


A Bale of Turtles

by zimriya



Series: Would Kill to Rule [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Attempted Murder, Car Accidents, Getting Back Together, Gun Violence, M/M, Minor Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Modern Royalty, Murder, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Police Officer Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, Prince Lee Taeyong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 77,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: Jaehyun thought he was done with the royal family. Then someone started killing them, and all signs pointed to the one of them that broke his heart.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong
Series: Would Kill to Rule [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2135046
Comments: 156
Kudos: 215
Collections: NCTV Secret Santa 2020





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vervains](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vervains/gifts).



> For Fox, who asked for: _a criminal investigator teams up with an aristocrat to solve a string of murders the latter’s circle seems to be implicated in, aka if you write a historical murder mystery i will love you forever._ This fic tries to have all of those things, and while I didn’t quite manage to set it in the past—even the rudimentary research I did for this fic was at times almost too much—I hope you still enjoy it! 
> 
> Much thanks to Aixing for the consultation on all aspects of crime in this fic. Neither of us are would-be murderers; we just consume police procedurals and read crime novels. As always, thank you to Hexmen for the beta. Finally: thank you to Mod 🌸 for running such a fun challenge! I had an absolute blast participating.

Jaehyun doesn’t ask to get put on the case. In fact, Jaehyun doesn’t even know that there is a case when he gets to work on Friday. He shows up to the precinct at his usual time, barely awake and struggling to stay so, and does his usual rounds, pausing to verify he hasn’t gotten any important mail, before stopping to grab some of the precinct’s god-awful coffee for himself, Johnny, and Taeil. The latter is a leftover exercise from when Jaehyun was fresh out of KNPU and working with the team as part of his post-graduate rotation; of the three of them only Jaehyun drinks the office coffee, but that’s because it’s a surefire way to wake up in the morning. Taeil keeps a plant on his desk which he waters almost exclusively with the stuff because he “might as well get some use out of it,” and Johnny’s a coffee snob who only ever drinks it at Jaehyun’s expense, but it’s part of Jaehyun’s routine regardless. He sets one mug down on Taeil’s desk and the other beside Johnny’s elbow, and then continues on his way.

A stack of paperwork is what awaits Jaehyun at his own desk—leftover filing from the last assault case he and Johnny worked—and Jaehyun stifles another yawn, sinking into his chair. The seat is set way too low, but every time Jaehyun tries to raise the thing it squeaks something awful, and then Jaehyun spends the next few minutes slowly sinking right back down; when he’s been a detective for long enough, the first thing Jaehyun is going to demand is a better chair. But for now, Jaehyun takes it, rolling forward and feeling more like a kid in a dollhouse than a man in a police station.

He sighs.

He yawns some more.

A mug lands on his desk in front of him, and it’s a testament to how tired Jaehyun is that it takes him what feels like several hours to ascertain that it’s attached to Johnny. That can’t be good—Jaehyun’s literal job is to be two steps ahead of literal criminals—so he gives himself a shake, and vows to get it together.

“Hey.” Johnny’s clearly not buying it, because he snaps his fingers in front of Jaehyun’s face a few times. “What’s wrong with you? Long night? Don’t tell me you picked _today_ to go out and celebrate like the rest of us.”

He keeps his hand in Jaehyun’s face for a while longer, reaching out to flick him on the nose, and then laughing when Jaehyun swipes angrily at him with his left hand—and misses.

“That’s your coffee, by the way,” Johnny says, once he’s done laughing. He grabs the mug that’s still in Jaehyun’s hand and brings it to his lips to take a sip, grimacing only a little afterwards. “And this is mine—thank you.” It’s an old joke, but Jaehyun is still not awake enough to react, so Johnny sighs. “So were you?” he says. At Jaehyun’s continued vacant look he tilts his head. “Were you out partying like the rest of us?” Jaehyun must look even more at a loss, because Johnny lets go of the mug, leaving it in only Jaehyun’s hand. “Yesterday was the king’s birthday,” he says, like Jaehyun is a small child, and not his coworker and friend of nearly four years. “It’s why some of us had the day off—not you newbies, of course, since crime doesn’t take a holiday, but… none of this is ringing a bell for you?”

Jaehyun glances at the calendar he keeps on his desk and notes yesterday was May 26—he hadn’t really even noticed, though surely he must have passed at least five subway ads about it on his way into work alone. Although maybe subway ads were more for the princes and princesses—the younger, prettier royals, and not the man on currency. Of course, some of the younger, prettier royals have their faces on currency too, but Jaehyun’s not thinking about _that_ before he’s had his coffee.

He exhales. “No, I—well now that you mention it, that probably explains why my neighbors were blasting music until like three a.m. last night.” He takes a bracing sip from his mug immediately afterwards, hoping the burn of his tongue and the general foulness of the taste will help wake him up. As always, the stuff tastes like boiled ink. Jaehyun lets out a loud breath.

“Wow,” Johnny says. “Are you sure you’re—”

“Taeil-hyung,” Jaehyun says loudly, in time for the final member of their trio to arrive at his own desk.

“Jaehyunnie,” Taeil says right back, setting down his bag and sliding into the seat directly next Johnny. He picks up his own mug and gives it a swirl, before carefully pouring a small amount into the pot on his desk.

“How did you spend the holiday?” Jaehyun continues pleasantly. “Did you do anything fun? Try any new recipes?” Taeil’s been talking about cooking recently, so surely he’ll have an update, and that’ll take up time… and shift the mood.

If Johnny notices that Jaehyun has very badly changed the subject, he says nothing. “ _I_ didn’t do anything interesting,” he offers. “I just slept in, visited family. The works.”

Jaehyun shoots him an ugly look—he knows perfectly well that most of Johnny’s family is back home in America, and the only person he considers family in Korea is _not anyone Jaehyun is interested in discussing_ —but Taeil just hums again. “Mmm, no,” he starts to answer—before the door to Kim-sajang’s office opens, and Byoungjun-hyung comes out of it, holding a folder. He’s followed by Kim Jiwoo, the only other rookie on Violent Crimes Team Two, and Jaehyun’s least favorite person in the entire precinct. Jiwoo is only one week older than Jaehyun, but he still insists that Jaehyun call him “hyung.” (Jaehyun very pointedly only does it to his face.) He wasn’t in the same class as Jaehyun at KNPU and did his post-graduate rotation at a completely different station, yet still somehow resents Jaehyun for having not one but two friends already in the precinct. Jaehyun gets a headache just looking at him.

Byoungjun-hyung crosses the office to stand in front of them carrying his own mug of coffee. He takes a long, pointed sip, and Jaehyun is ninety percent certain he actually _enjoys_ the stuff, which is terrifying. “We’ve got a dead body. Potential homicide,” the man says when he’s finished, staring down at the three of them.

Behind him Jiwoo looks smug, clutching his own folder full of information, and evidently having been the only one of them present when Kim-sajang called Byoungjun-hyung in for the meeting in the first place. Jaehyun shouldn’t wish for anyone on their team to fuck up, but God, he really wishes the universe would take the man down a peg.

“Homicide,” Taeil repeats, going abruptly serious. “When?”

If Byoungjun-hyung is bothered by the informality, he doesn’t show it. “Early this morning—or late last night. They’re still trying to determine time of death. We’re due on the scene immediately—only”—he looks somehow even more pinched—“it’s… complicated.”

“Complicated,” Taeil repeats.

“It’s Hong Eunsung,” Byoungjun-hyung says again. “He was found dead this morning in one of his mansions.”

Jaehyun’s throat goes dry.

Jiwoo somehow manages to look even more smug.

“Hong Eunsung,” Taeil repeats. “Is that supposed to mean something—”

“He’s Lee Junghee’s son,” Jaehyun interjects, mostly because Jiwoo’s grin is practically shit-eating. Jiwoo freezes, mouth fallen open in honest shock, and Jaehyun fights the pubescent urge to stick his tongue out at him. “The older one. I think… 1993? He’s known for his parties.” Jaehyun feels like he’s swallowed a lemon but keeps speaking anyway. “He’s dead?”

“1992,” Byoungjun-hyung corrects, consulting his folder, but still awarding Jaehyun a pleased smile anyway. “And tragically, yes. So, you understand why this requires our full attention. NIS is already involved, and naturally so is palace security, but this is still a crime, and it happened in _our_ backyard.”

Unfortunately, Jaehyun does understand the gravity of the situation. But fortunately, Jaehyun also knows there’s absolutely no way he’s going to be put on the case—it’ll have to be Johnny or Taeil for sure—someone with more than two years of post-graduate experience.

“Lee Junghee,” says Taeil slowly. “Lee. As in—”

“She’s his cousin,” Jaehyun interrupts again because of Jiwoo, and very carefully looks at no one else.

“Yes,” Byoungjun-hyung has an odd look on his face, and Jaehyun is starting to regret even opening his mouth. “Taeil. Jaehyun.” Both Taeil and Jaehyun straighten in their seats, shifting to attention without even having to think about it. “You take the lead on this one. Jiwoo?” He gestures the man forward, and Jaehyun’s least favorite member of the precinct hands over the folder like it’s physical torture. Jaehyun takes that for the silver lining that it is, and does his best not too obviously look two seconds from having a nervous breakdown.

“I’ll drive,” Taeil says, once Byoungjun-hyung has retreated across the station to talk to someone in missing persons about another case, and Jiwoo has settled sulkily in front of his own desk, across from Jaehyun. He glares the whole time, entering his password with an annoyingly loud clack of keys, but Jaehyun isn’t really looking.

Hong Eunsung is dead. _Dead_. Someone found his _body_ that morning. It’s enough to make Jaehyun’s skin crawl—and he only knew the man in passing.

“Jaehyun?”

Jaehyun startles from where he’s been staring vacantly into space, and gets clumsily to his feet, somehow managing not to get too tangled up in his too-short chair. “Yes, that’s fine, thank you,” he tells Taeil, and makes sure to step on Johnny’s foot on his way past the other man’s desk. “Shut up,” he says out of the corner his mouth

“I didn’t say anything,” Johnny says, with both hands raised in front of him. “But you’d better hurry.”

Taeil just snorts, clearly not all that bothered, and Jaehyun has to take surprisingly long strides just to keep up with him. “You are okay, though, right?” Taeil says as they reach the hallway out of the building. “I know this isn’t your first dead body…”

“I’m fine, Hyung, promise,” Jaehyun says, with what he hopes is a convincing smile. “I’m just a little tired—but I’m sure I’ll wake up in the car.”

Taeil doesn’t appear to completely buy it, but he lets it go on the way there anyway. Jaehyun is really fucking glad it wasn’t Johnny that was sent with him.

* * *

Hong Eunsung’s mansion is just as impressive as Jaehyun was expecting. It’s got a pool, several stories, and looks surprisingly normal for being the scene of a suspected homicide. The place is already swarming with police presence, but Jaehyun and Taeil are moved through the crime scene pretty-quickly, and it’s not long until they’re poolside. Hong Eunsung was found that morning by two partygoers who’d stayed the night, and though palace security would have been first on the scene by virtue of it having been _Hong Eunsung_ , clearly one of those partygoers had the wherewithal to call the actual police, because Jaehyun can see members of their forensics team picking through the evidence. There are familiar faces, techs Jaehyun’s passed in the halls, but Jaehyun is mostly just glad to see Kun standing by the side of the pool wearing gloves.

“Taeil-hyung,” Kun greets, when they reach him, dipping his head politely and sending off a minion with a bit of bagged evidence. “Jaehyunnie.”

Jaehyun bows his head in acknowledgement as well, before accepting his own pair of gloves from one of the other techs. “What have we got?” Out of the corner of his eye he can see Taeil pulling on gloves and watching him—evidently still concerned—but Jaehyun is perfectly capable of doing his job, thanks. He was just… surprised. People like Hong Eunsung weren’t supposed to die, let alone in Jaehyun’s precinct.

Stealing himself, he steps closer to the edge of the pool, careful to avoid the marked areas. Hong Eunsung was nearly 172 centimeters and in good health—attractive, and one of the royals who’d have gotten birthday ads. He was thirty, just under two months away from thirty-one, and hadn’t been in the papers for anything scandalous. Jaehyun did a cursory search on their way to the crime scene, and the most he could come up with was an article from last month talking about his latest charity project. No doubt there would be more on the fan forums, but that was something to do later, back at the precinct working well into the morning.

“No signs of a struggle,” Kun says, coming to stand level with Jaehyun. “I’d say he went into the water around five, maybe six… I’ll know more once we get him out of the water.”

Jaehyun nods, eyeing the edge of the pool. It’s tiled, pretty, and there really is nothing to suggest any hint of a struggle—none of the pool furniture overturned—but plenty of signs of a party—leftover glasses and empty paper cups. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that royalty parties just like the rest of the world, but Jaehyun still spends an inordinate amount of time staring at an arrangement of red solo cups.

“Beer pong,” Taeil points out helpfully, clearly thinking about the last time he, Johnny, and Jaehyun got together outside of work.

Jaehyun scowls at him, and steps back so that he can circle behind Kun.

Taeil just smirks harder, before sobering. “Drugs?”

“At the party?” Kun glances around them almost reflexively. “Surprisingly, none.” 

Jaehyun’s not surprised. Eunsung hadn’t seemed the sort to want that at his party, and alcohol would have been more than enough. Picking up one of the bottles on the table only confirms it. The stuff is classy and not at all in Jaehyun’s taste, but expensive enough to merit care when he put it back on the table.

Taeil hums, clearly disappointed in the lack of debauchery, and Jaehyun steps back closer to the pool. At the edge he bends down, settling back on his haunches so as to not fall in. Eunsung’s body is thin, well-proportioned, and utterly unsettling to look at. He doesn’t seem dead, even though his skin is unnaturally pale. Jaehyun almost expects any minute for him to roll over, throw his hair out of his eyes and laugh. “He’s wearing swimming trunks,” he says finally.

Kun makes a noise of agreement and steps forward. “Yes—and that combined with the way he has no outward injuries—it’s likely it was simply an accident. He fell in.”

Taeil gives his gloves a snap, clearly pleased.

“I’ll know more once I do a full autopsy.” Kun determines.

Jaehyun nods again, standing to his full height and tugging off his own gloves. “You’ll put a rush on that?”

Kun smirks at him. “Jaehyun-ah,” he says dryly. “That man is _Lee Junghee’s son_.”

Jaehyun feels a headache start up behind his temples. “Don’t remind me—”

“If I don’t put a rush on it, it’ll be my job on the line,” Kun continues, grinning. Then the grin slides off of his face in time for a man to step up beside them.

He’s tall, well dressed, and very clearly wearing an earpiece. The suit is three-piece, designer, and surprisingly well-fitting for someone who very clearly spends most of their time bodyguarding wannabe monarchs. There’s not a thread out of place, the outfit somehow managing to hide the gun he is no doubt carrying, while only serving to elongate his form. _He’s_ definitely more than 172 centimeters—in fact Jaehyun would put him at 184 centimeters.

He’s also Shim Changmin.

All Jaehyun can do is stare.

“Hello,” Changmin says, eyes flicking briefly to Jaehyun once, before settling back on Taeil.

Jaehyun’s partner bows in greeting again. “Hello. I’m—”

“Moon Taeil.” Changmin doesn’t even look at Jaehyun, but his gaze leaves Taeil immediately anyway. “We know.”

Jaehyun has a sinking feeling about this, but before he can do more than swallow, Taeil is drawing attention to him with a hand on his shoulder. “And this is my partner, Jeong Jaehyun,” he says pointedly, clearly unimpressed by the cold welcome. “And _you_ are?”

“Above your paygrade,” Changmin says shortly, with another flick of his eyes over Jaehyun like he’s just thin air. “Do you have enough?” He’s addressing Kun, and the forensic scientist startles, clearly not expecting to have been spoken to.

“Uh, yes,” Kun decides, glancing around. “Well—no, but—”

“Good. Then if you’ll excuse me, we really must be going—”

“Who found the body?” Jaehyun interrupts, the sinking feeling settling more solidly into downright dread. Shim Changmin works for palace security, but not the generic, run-of-the-mill kind. Shim Changmin is on the elite team—the group of people who play bodyguard—and there’s really only reason he’d be here.

That reason clears his throat, stepping out of the shadows with a police blanket wrapped around him, and wearing a tentative smile. He’s just as pretty as Jaehyun remembers—tall, but not too tall, with slim, slight shoulders and a narrow, distracting waist. His eyes are dark and fathomless; his brows thick and defined. He’s got a model’s jaw, is wearing a model’s clothing, and looks at Jaehyun without even a shred of hesitance. “I did,” he says, as if his very appearance at the party wasn’t the final nail in Jaehyun’s coffin. “I found the body.”

Even Taeil is staring—the lack of recognition for Hong Eunsung’s name nowhere at all present. Because of course it wouldn’t be. That would be truly too kind, and the universe is clearly attempting to ruin Jaehyun’s entire life, let alone just this day. “Taeyong,” Taeil says, mostly so Jaehyun doesn’t have to. “It’s been a while.”

Kun makes a startled, involuntary sounding noise. “You know Taeyong-ssi?”

“Nope.” Taeil’s own smile is transformative, and Kun takes an immediate step back, shock coloring his features. “So, you found the body…”

This whole time, Taeyong hasn’t looked away from Jaehyun once, but he seems to realize that not doing so now would make things awkward. “Taeyong,” he says, as if this is the first time they’re all meeting. “Lee Taeyong.” His hair is a shockingly bright red, like a warning.

Jaehyun doesn’t heed it. “Lee Taeyong,” he repeats. “As in—”

“Eunsung-hyung was my third cousin,” he says quietly, then, with a barely there glance at Changmin, he adds, “Of course I’d be happy to answer any of your questions.”

Changmin scowls, clearly not impressed, but Jaehyun latches onto the sentence like the lifeline it is.

“Thank you,” he says. “Though you must know refusing to do so would be… suspect.”

Changmin takes a step forward with a snarl, but Taeyong just puts up a hand. He shrugs out of the blanket, and his bodyguard takes it from him with a grimace. “Of course,” he says, like they’re just playing that game on variety, and Jaehyun feels his nails bite into his palms before he can stop himself, white knuckling air in response. “Ah—and you’ll want to talk to Chaeyoung-noona as well.” Before Jaehyun or Taeil can comment, he raises his voice, calling, “Chaeyoung-noona!” across the pool.

Jaehyun opens his mouth anyway, just as a woman picks her way over on unsteady heels. She’s got mascara all down her face and lipstick smeared across one check, wearing an artfully short skirt and something much more reminiscent of a bustier than a shirt. Aside from the parts of it that have very clearly been ruined by sleeping in it and crying, the rest of her makeup is rather understated and simple; she’d seem out of place for a party like this, if it weren’t for the clothes. When she reaches them, Taeyong immediately takes the blanket from Changmin and throws it around the woman’s shoulders.

“Taeyongie,” she says, in a surprisingly shaky voice. “Ah—hyungsanim,” she adds, looking around at all of them. “I—”

“Chaeyoung-noona and I found the—found him,” Taeyong explains. “So you’ll want to question both of us.” Then he smiles, totally aimed only at Jaehyun, like he’s a puppy presenting his owner with a bone.

Jaehyun tells himself he’s not at all affected—that it’s much more like a cat presenting its owner with a dead bird—and nods. “Yes,” he says, and gestures towards the house. “We can go inside where it’s more comfortable.”

Chaeyoung smiles, clearly still shaken up, but seems thankful when Jaehyun and Taeil end up on either side of her for the trip.

* * *

The inside of Eunsung’s mansion is no less impressive the second time through it, but Jaehyun does his best simply to find a secluded spot to talk to the witnesses, who are also potential suspects. They end up in what seems to be the main living room, which is still swarming with law enforcement but less so than the pool. Jaehyun helps Taeil steer Chaeyoung to the couch, ushering her down onto it and giving her time to settle the blanket across her lap. The woman seems visibly shaken up, so Jaehyun decides it’s best if they interview her first, sending Taeyong back outside to his bodyguard without staring for too long into his eyes.

“Don’t leave,” he says, in case that wasn’t clear.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Taeyong replies, and Jaehyun hates that his stomach flips at the sound of his voice.

He waits until Taeyong has gone back out to stand with Changmin, and then takes a seat in one of the empty chairs in the room. Taeil takes a seat on the couch beside Chaeyoung, doing his best to radiate calm. No one speaks.

Jaehyun clears his throat. “Chaeyoung-ssi,” he says, in his pleasant interview-voice. “I know this is hard, but it won’t take more than a few moments of your time.” As he talks, he gets out a pad and paper, knowing Taeil will be doing much of the same. They’ll both take notes, and then afterwards they’ll compare, and then share everything with the rest of the team back at the station. “We’re just trying to figure out what happened.”

Chaeyoung looks briefly even more upset, but then she raises her chin. “I understand.”

“So let’s start with you,” says Jaehyun, trying out a smile. “Your name is Chaeyoung?”

“Kang Chaeyoung,” Chaeyoung confirms.

Jaehyun pens out the characters of her name, adding a note—found body in a.m.—without mentioning who else found the body. “You were at the party yesterday?” he clarifies.

“Yes.” Chaeyoung nods her head. “I knew the—Eunsungie.” Chaeyoung is clearly having trouble saying the words “the deceased” and Jaehyun totally understands. “We’re—we were close.”

Jaehyun tips his head. “Friends?” he says.

“He—he was my dongsaeng—by eleven months.”

That would put her date of birth in—fuck, not math—August 1991. Jaehyun notes that too, although he doubts the information will be relevant. They’ll run her and Taeyong both through the computer once they get back to the station and come up with far more than rudimentary personal information. But Jaehyun needs something to do, so he writes it down anyway.

“And you said you were close,” Taeil prompts, picking up Jaehyun’s slack with well-cultivated ease. “How close?”

“Like family,” Chaeyoung says.

Jaehyun scribbles out, _thought of him like a brother??_ with two question marks.

“We dated,” Chaeyoung blurts, clearly on accident, and then finally manages an expression that isn’t shock, slapping both hands over her mouth like she can’t believe she just said it. Jaehyun remembers that being a thing from dating a member of the royal family, and then has to grind his teeth a little to keep on task. Chaeyoung seems honestly shaken up about everything—to the point where Jaehyun hesitates to make any lasting judgments as to her guilt. They don’t even know if Eunsung was killed. He opens his mouth.

Chaeyoung beats him to it. “I wouldn’t really say we dated,” she says. “I mean we dated originally, but lately it was just…” Her eyes widen, what she’s saying clearly catching up with her, and Jaehyun very kindly doesn’t look down at his notepad. Taeil has no such qualms, but Chaeyoung has seemed mostly fixated on Jaehyun, so he thinks it’s fine. He doesn’t have to write that down—or at least, he doesn’t have to be that specific.

“We broke up,” says Chaeyoung finally. “I’m seeing someone else now—Jaesungie—is that… relevant?”

Jaehyun looks up from where he’s definitely been making a note of that—tears and honest shock aside, an ex-girlfriend could have plenty of means and motive—and tries not not to too obviously squint at her. Hong Eunsung has a younger brother of two years named Jaesung, but Jaehyun doesn’t know how to bring that up with risking supreme awkwardness if he’s wrong. He settles on just smiling; it’s safer.

“And why were you both awake so early?” he asks finally. “You and Taeyong. It seems like it was quite the party.” He glances around the living room, where there are less red solo cups but more wine glasses, and what seems to be a safe of some sort, in the wall over by the flatscreen.

Chaeyoung seems nice enough, but she clearly has motive… although Taeyong is there to corroborate her simply stumbling upon Eunsung… Jaehyun will have to wait to see what Taeil’s gotten out of the conversation.

“It was,” Chaeyoung answers. “I mean it wasn’t anything special.” She clears her throat. “I stayed over—I usually stay over—but I had work this morning.” More panic flashes in her eyes, but she manages to keep going. “Taeyongie was in charge of the keys—we keep them all over there in the safe?—so I woke him so I could leave. I don’t really get hangovers, and he hadn’t drunk all that much.”

 _Probably because he’s a lightweight_ , Jaehyun finds himself thinking rather uncharitably, but he manages to keep writing.

“The safe,” Taeil says, gesturing.

Jaehyun stands to take a closer look, noting that it seems pretty solid and state of the art.

Chaeyoung nods, but doesn’t get up herself. “Yes. When we were up… we saw him.” She swallows. “Eunsung.”

Jaehyun goes back to sit down on the chair.

“And what time was that?” Taeil asks.

Chaeyoung sniffs, and wipes at her eyes. “Um, around six thirty?” she says. “I had work at eight and I wanted to leave with enough time to get home and change.” She glances down at her outfit and laughs a little self-deprecatingly. “Obviously this isn’t appropriate for court.”

Jaehyun tilts his head at her.

“I’m a lawyer,” Chaeyoung explains. “I work with KMCA—the Korean Music—”

“Copyright Association,” Taeil finishes for her, staring. “I nearly dropped out to become a singer.”

Jaehyun hadn’t known that.

“I love it,” Chaeyoung says. “It’s my dream job.”

Taeil smiles honestly at her, and Jaehyun clears his throat. 

“So you found the body around six,” says Taeil.

“Yes,” Chaeyoung says. “And then we called the cops.”

Taeil nods. “Alright—”

“Everyone else left before you got here,” Chaeyoung finishes before Taeil can.

Jaehyun latches onto that immediately. “Everyone else,” he says.

Chaeyoung has the decency to look embarrassed. “I wasn’t the only person who stayed over,” she mumbles, and Jaehyun takes several seconds watching her blush before he figures out why she would be embarrassed to give that information out.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh—oh— _oh_ —well—”

“Nothing—nothing happened!” Chaeyoung insists, holding her head high. “We just went to sleep—in one bed—and I’m a light sleeper, so I would have noticed if they woke up.”

Honestly, Jaehyun’s still a little distracted by the fact that Eunsung apparently went out after a massive party that culminated in some sort of mass sleepover, but he manages. “And who was it that stayed over?” he says. “And left?” He thinks his left eye might be twitching.

“Unnie can be very convincing,” Chaeyoung offers, but it falls flat. “Uh—Doyeon-unnie,” she amends. “Lee Doyeon.”

Jaehyun puts his pen to paper.

“The actress?” Taeil asks, clearly only because Chaeyoung is expecting it. Even Jaehyun remembers that scandal, to use the proper—unrealistic—term. It was the second royal scandal of 2019—the first being something Jaehyun wouldn’t care to remember even _without_ the present company—and made the national news. People were convinced Eunsung was going to marry her and she’d become a princess; particularly newsworthy given some of the negative feedback for her work playing a Joseon equivalent on a drama for MBC—the one with a weird title… something about snakes across flower paths. Jaehyun might have been going through the motions and trying not to eat his own weight in ice cream, but he was still aware. Their break up was a big deal.

Funny that she’d have been at Eunsung’s party—and have stayed over, too.

“Yes,” Chaeyoung confirms. “And, um, Lee Taejoon-oppa?” She pauses, like she’s waiting for them to say “the actor” in similar tones, but Jaehyun remembers that set of rumors as well, so he just lets the confirmation of their acquaintance roll off of him. It certainly would be nice if they’d been more than friends too, but he’s not holding his breath.

“Anyone else?”

“Kita Haruka and Kim Jiyoo,” Chaeyoung says.

Jaehyun copies down those final two names, stumbling slightly over the Japanese. “We’re going to need a list of everyone else you know who was at the party.”

Chaeyoung nods when he looks up, looking very sorry, and Jaehyun tries to soften his tone.

“Is there anything else?”

She shakes her head, back to seeming like the slightest wind could knock her over, and then she pauses, biting at her lower lip. “Do you—do you think—it was an accident, right?” Her eyes are very, very wide. “He tripped and f-fell?”

Jaehyun hates this part. “It’s too soon to tell,” he says quietly. “We can’t rule out any circumstances. Unfortunately it’s a lot more likely to be foul play when it comes to”—Jaehyun winces but there’s no way around it—“royalty.”

Chaeyoung shrinks in on herself. “Oh.” She picks at the fabric of her dress, and says nothing more.

Jaehyun lets Taeil take the lead. “Thank you,” he says. “We’ll need you to come in to sign a more official statement, but this has been very helpful.”

Chaeyoung stands and Taeil helps her out the door, leaving her with the paramedics while Jaehyun makes unfortunate eye contact with Changmin and gestures that they’re ready for Taeyong now. Taeyong comes into the mansion, communicating silently with his bodyguard the whole while, and settles down on the couch in almost parody of Chaeyoung. He really is unfairly ethereal, even though the backdrop is more out of a crime drama than a fantasy. When he catches Jaehyun staring he has the audacity to smirk, though, which ruins it.

Jaehyun clears his throat, but doesn’t start without Taeil. He’s not that much of an idiot. Or maybe he is, because he can’t help but notice that Taeyong’s hands are a little shaky, even though he is clearly doing his best to seem composed.

Taeil comes back into the room and takes his own seat. The room descends into silence. Taeyong keeps fucking smirking. Jaehyun tells himself he doesn’t know it’s a coping mechanism.

“Did you have something to say, Taeyong-ssi?” he says. “A confession, perhaps—”

Jaehyun is saved from Taeyong actually answering by Taeil clearing his throat loudly into a full cough. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with us,” he says, shooting Jaehyun only one dirty look as he does. “We know that this is tough. Your name is Lee Taeyong? You’re Eunsung’s cousin.”

“Third cousin,” Taeyong affirms, dragging his eyes away from Jaehyun only for a second. “Our great-grandparents were siblings.” His eyes flick briefly down Jaehyun’s chest and Jaehyun entertains stabbing him in between them with the pen. “We’re family,” Taeyong continues, heedless of Jaehyun’s murderous thoughts. “But he wasn’t even my favorite cousin.”

“But you were here,” Jaehyun hears himself say, thankfully covered up by Taeil continuing a proper line of questioning.

“And you attended yesterday’s party?” Taeyong nods in affirmative. “So you stayed over.”

“Yes, Noona and I stayed the night,” says Taeyong.

Jaehyun decides it’s just safer to let Taeil take the lead, although it does mean he has to keep looking at Taeyong. Maybe he can just pretend to be taking really diligent notes.

“And were you the only two who stayed over last night?” Taeil seems to be doing fine, but Jaehyun knows him well enough to know he’s likely to get an earful the moment they’re alone.

“Were you involved with the”—Jaehyun lowers his voice automatically, even as he starts to have an out of body experience because _why_ —“you know.” He raises his eyebrows, hoping Taeyong is just focusing on him, and has not noticed the truly disgusted look on Taeil’s face at present. “ _The orgy_ ,” Jaehyun finishes, in a whisper, and Taeyong’s cheeks burn.

“What? No! God! There wasn’t an orgy!” he says—shouts—and Jaehyun busies himself with writing that down to avoid looking him in the eye. “I was just drunk!” Taeyong continues. “I was in the guest room—not the master—Noona came and got me when she got up to go to work!”

“Right, yes, work,” Jaehyun says. “And what time did Chaeyoung wake you?”

Taeyong is still looking a little flushed, but he composes himself. “Six-ish?” he says. “Or five-fifty, maybe? I don’t know exactly, but it was way too early. I was in charge of the keys,” he explains, before Jaehyun can ask. Then he gets to his feet and goes to fiddle with the safe, unlocking it easily.

A normal person would maybe have knelt, but Taeyong just dips over at the hips, hinging his upper body forward and doing nothing to help Jaehyun with his puncture urges. He comes out with a pair that most likely belongs to Chaeyoung, adorned with a keychain of some boyband member Jaehyun doesn’t know.

“We found Eunsung-hyung then,” Taeyong says finally, fingering the keys nervously. “Noona and I.”

His story is pretty much word for word Chaeyoung’s, but Jaehyun still feels on edge.

“And were the two of you the only ones who stayed over?” asks Taeil, clearly the only reason they’re actually getting anything done, and Jaehyun could honestly just kiss him.

“Oh, no.” Taeyong seems honestly unbothered, and Jaehyun has to work incredibly hard not to squint at him, looking for the cracks in the act. Because this has to be an act. There’s “time heals all wounds” and then there’s… whatever this is. The hair? The party? The murder scene? None of it screams Lee Taeyong. But Jaehyun is starting to fear he never really knew Lee Taeyong. “Aside from Noona and I, four other people stayed over. But they—left.”

Jaehyun definitely has a headache and a feeling he’s going to have to set Byoungjun-hyung on Changmin. “I see,” he says. “And who were those people and _why did they leave_?” He ends up sounding more pissed about it than he’d wanted to, but well. He is pissed. They let people four walk away from their crime scene.

At least Taeyong has the self-awareness to seem apologetic. “Sorry,” he says. “It was before anyone else got here… and—” He breaks off, sets back his shoulders, and makes a fist around Chaeyoung’s keys. “Lee Taejoon, Lee Doyeon, Kim Jiyoo, and Kita Haruka,” he says. “Those were the people.” He waits. “You’re not going to write those down?”

Jaehyun feels his hackles raise, but Taeil’s the one who speaks. “We already knew—”

“Right,” Taeyong sounds self-deprecating now. “Because you had to corroborate what Noona said. I’m—” Thankfully he doesn’t finish that sentence, but Jaehyun feels it like an arrow to the chest anyway. And then he feels even angrier, because how dare Taeyong act betrayed that Jaehyun is suspicious of him _finding a body_.

A glance shows Changmin is more than lingering by the windows. He’d afforded them privacy for the questioning (with much glaring on Taeyong’s part), but has stayed in clear view the entire time, and now he’s started to pace.

Jaehyun stands, flipping the notebook closed and coming to stand next to Taeyong at the safe. He ignores the way the man stiffens—ignores the heat coming off him, and how he still smells faintly of something familiarly sweet—and just focuses on the details. “Did you open it?” he asks, just to make sure. “Before you saw the body?”

Taeyong is already shaking his head before Jaehyun finishes asking his second question. “No. But I had to open it to give everyone else their keys.”

“Right.” Because four people left before the cops arrived. Jaehyun and Changmin are going to have to have _words_.

He takes a few steps back to account for them not having reached the safe and notes it would be possible to see the pool from that vantage point. Maybe a person wouldn’t be able to see for sure what was in the pool, but they’d certainly be able to see enough to go and investigate. He grimaces just thinking about it. “It tracks,” he tells Taeil.

At his side, Taeyong snorts, and Jaehyun can’t help but look at him. Up close, the cracks are all the more apparent. Taeyong might seem aloof and collected from distance, but his eyes are too wide and his cheeks are too pale. His hands aren’t shaking anymore, though. Jaehyun doesn’t know how he feels about that. He lifts a brow. “Yes?”

Taeyong just shakes his head and goes back over to sit on the couch. He wraps his hands protectively around himself like he hadn’t before, and Jaehyun… does his job.

“I’ve got enough for now,” he tells Taeil in an aside, stepping closer.

Taeil consults his own notes before nodding. “Me too.” Jaehyun should be the one to paste on the smile and let Taeyong know they’re done for now, and that he shouldn’t leave the country either, that they will be needing contact info for everyone who stayed over in the house the night before, as well as anyone they can remember attending the party, and that they may need to call them back in for more questioning later. Taeil does it before he can.

* * *

“So,” Taeil says, once they’re back in the police car. “Are we talking about it?”

Jaehyun flips open his notebook and starts to go over his notes. “What do you think of Chaeyoung?” he asks.

Taeil nods, not looking away from the road. “So, we’re not,” he says. He sighs. “Chaeyoung seemed honestly upset.”

Jaehyun purses his lips. “Yeah,” he says.

“You sound upset about that,” says Taeil. “It could still just be an accident—not a homicide.”

Jaehyun turns the page. “I really don’t think it was an accident, Hyung,” he says finally.

Taeil is quiet for a few lights. “Yeah,” he says. “And Taeyong—”

“Chaeyoung was the one who was dating him,” Jaehyun says, with false cheer.

“You’re buying the safe thing?”

“He knew the combination. And it makes sense that they’d take peoples’ keys.”

Taeil seems to consider that. “I guess we’ll know more when Kun does,” he says finally.

Jaehyun nods. The rest of the drive is spent in silence.

* * *

The autopsy comes back as a homicide. Eunsung was dead before he went into the pool—the lack of water in his lungs the first bit of rather glaring proof; the presence of cotton fibers in them the second. “Someone suffocated him with a pillow, and then dumped him in the pool,” Kun determines finally, and then seems apologetic when that’s less than helpful. For all that Eunsung was somewhat of an heir to a throne, he didn’t have indoor cameras or personal security—despite being at least one royal sibling closer to heirs than Taeyong’s family, it seems Lee Junghee is of the school of letting her children be normal children, or at least as normal as possible when they’re descended from Lee Hyuk himself. Not only that, but there were so many people on the word-of-mouth guestlist for the party that their initial list of suspects is tragically pages long. Time of death is sometime after four, as Kun had hypothesized, but unfortunately, that doesn’t help matters either. Security was rather lax at the party, bordering on woefully negligent, and Jaehyun is taking what little pleasure he can from knowing that at least Changmin is probably as pissed if not more to find out how much so.

Jaehyun spends most of the morning and into the afternoon combing through social media from people at the party, trying to come up with something resembling a timeline of events, as well as a list of who was even there while Taeil runs down leads. Two of the people on the unofficial list have priors, and all four of the people who stayed over and then were _allowed to leave_ absolutely need to be talked to.

NIS eventually sends over some files—heavily vetted surveillance of the royal family that Jaehyun feels like he should be more bothered to find out exists than he actually is—which speeds things along a bit more. Jaehyun is actually able to make progress, confirming that besides Taeyong, all five people who stayed over were in fact Eunsung’s ex-boyfriend and ex-girlfriends—all five of them, including Chaeyoung. The man had five ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends and not only were all of them invited to the party he died at, but all of them stayed over in the mansion after the fact.

“So, he has five ex-girlfriends,” Johnny says, once Jaehyun has shared with the class, mostly because he just _cannot help himself_.

“Three ex-girlfriends and two ex-boyfriends,” Jaehyun corrects, wheeling backwards in his chair and stretching out his legs and arms. “He apparently did date Lee Taejoon—the actor—did you know?”

Johnny narrows his eyes at him, but it’s Jiwoo who answers. “I believe I had actually heard that rumor, yeah,” he says snappishly, clearly still peeved that Jaehyun and Taeil got the homicide and he got stuck on… whatever it is he’s been tasked with. A robbery, maybe? Or a simple break and enter? “Who else?”

Jaehyun rolls back towards his desk and pulls out the photos in question, pointing as he goes, “Lee Taejoon, Kang Chaeyoung, Lee Doyeon—the actress; I guess he had a type—”

Johnny makes a noise, then interrupts, muttering under his breath, “Wow. You’d think Dispatch would kill for this information, but then, _he’s dead_ , so it’s not like they could publish.”

“Because Dispatch has a soul,” Jaehyun says sarcastically, before continuing. “Kim Jiyoo. She’s just an ex-classmate, but her family owns like two hospitals. And then this one—he’s a diplomat’s child, half Japanese—named, uh”—he pulls the folder close to himself to make sure he gets it exactly right—“Kita Haruka. He’s the most recent one. They only broke up a couple weeks ago.” The photo in question is Eunsung with his arm around Haruka, the both of them laughing and leaning into each other.

Jaehyun sets it back on the desk, and clicks back into the search on his computer, looking for Lee Taejoon and Lee Doyeon’s social media accounts. He’s been avoiding the fan forums, because he knows once he heads there, he’s going to be consumed, and the afternoon will be lost. He frowns.

“And Taeil-hyung’s going to talk to all of them?” Johnny asks, drawing Jaehyun’s attention away from self-deprecation. “All five of them?”

“Just the four who left,” Jaehyun says, still frowning. He double clicks on Lee Taejoon’s Instagram and notes the actor is currently filming a historical drama; his most recent photos are mostly of night shoots and him in full costume. “Although I don’t know how much luck he’ll have—”

“I’m two for six,” Taeil says, announcing his arrival back into the office. He strides through past the other desks until he reaches their row, and then he dramatically throws down his notepad onto his own. “Lee Taejoon-ssi was filming and couldn’t be bothered until Sunday at the earliest, no matter how close he was to Hong Eunsung-ssi,” he explains. “Lee Doyeon wasn’t even locatable—but her manager is going to call me back as soon as possible.” Taeil pauses to roll his eyes, leaving no mystery to what he thinks about _that_. “Kita Haruka is actually already in Tokyo, and Kim Jiyoo was conveniently out of the country as well—in Macau.”

Jaehyun lets go of his mouse and goes to massage his temples.

“But Chaeyoung is being perfectly cooperative, at least.” Taeil sinks into his chair with a sigh, spinning around with his ankles crossed. “She hasn’t left the country and has even offered to come in and make more statements today, if we need.”

Jaehyun heaves his own sigh and drops his hands into his lap. “That’s good,” he says. “But the rest of them… they do realize that it doesn’t make them look good, right? More so than if they got seen coming into the station, or whatever.”

“I think they’re just too rich to care,” Taeil says, and then he turns pleading eyes on Johnny. “Youngho—”

Johnny reaches for his cup of coffee, picking it up and standing simultaneously. “Nope, not happening,” he says. “My relationship is off limits unless completely necessary.”

“But _Youngho_ ,” Taeil whines. Then he abruptly sobers, turning to Jaehyun. “Speaking of relationships—”

“It’s not a relationship,” Jaehyun says quickly, not at all in the mood. “Look, I haven’t done the fan forums yet but if you’re coming up empty, I’d be happy to switch—”

Johnny glances between Taeil and Jaehyun, coffee frozen at his lips. “Sorry? Jaehyunnie’s in a relationship?” he says around it.

Jaehyun is going to kill Taeil—never mind it’d be his job to put himself in jail. “No,” he says. “And it’s not important—he’s just a suspect.”

Johnny’s looking between them like they’re a tennis match, and even Jiwoo has perked up. This could go bad very quickly, so Jaehyun has to think fast. “I know one of the witnesses,” he says delicately, at last. “Personally.” The modifier comes out like it physically pains him to add it, and Jiwoo is practically peeing in excitement like some sort of tiny, yappy dog. Jaehyun’s brain chooses that exact moment to remind himself that Taeyong has a tiny, should-be yappy dog—Ruby, who’s a Papillion, and totally appropriate for the great-great-grandson of royalty. She’s not yappy.

“Personally.” Johnny stares at Jaehyun long and hard. “You know a witness personally. Someone… friendly with the victim.” Jaehyun can see the dots connecting.

“We haven’t spoken in three years,” says Jaehyun quickly. “Hyung.” He flicks a purposeful glance at Jiwoo, and Johnny takes pity, setting down his coffee, and heading around to the other desk.

“Jiwoo—about _our_ witness…” Johnny draws Jiwoo away to actually do his job instead of eavesdropping, but by virtue of his considerable height, is totally able to still make eyes at Jaehyun in between friendly, co-worker nods as the two of them start discussing their logistics of their own case.

“Look.” Jaehyun points angrily at Taeil and leans in close to whisper. His ears feel like they’re on fire, but fuck if he’s shaking his hair over them. “You have full permission to go to Byoungjun-hyung the moment it becomes a conflict of interest, but given that he’s just a witness—not even a prime suspect—and we haven’t spoken in literal _three years_ —”

“Oh, I have your permission—”

“Hyung!”

Taeil raises both hands. “Why are you so insistent on staying on this case, anyway? I didn’t think you particularly cared for the monarchy.” He sounds like he’s daring Jaehyun to comment, but Jaehyun doesn’t rise to the bait.

“It’s a homicide,” he says, affording the severity of the crime the gravity it deserves. “And I—Byoungjun-hyung put me on this case.” His ears are still hot, but he powers on. “Look, you’ll be the first to know if this is going to be a problem but T—he’s not even a suspect, right now, yeah? And we honestly really haven’t spoken in three years—”

More like they hadn’t spoken _at all_ ; the last time Jaehyun actively looked Taeyong up was exactly one year ago, when Taeyong was in the news because he’d missed the official celebration of the king’s birthday to attend some sort of commemorative ceremony for National Missing Children’s Day in Washington D.C. The entire thing had felt like a personal attack, Taeyong being perfect and lovely and _kind_ , but Jaehyun had made peace with it. He’d gone on dates, slept with other people, _moved on_.

For some reason Jaehyun feels compelled to say that, voice lowered in a whisper. “I— _I’ve been with other people_ —”

“Do you have his number?” Taeil interrupts suddenly, expression unreadable, but no less shrewd.

Jaehyun is honestly stunned to silence for a few seconds. “What? No,” he lies automatically, and it is a lie. Jaehyun tried to delete Taeyong’s number immediately after they broke up, but he failed. He blocked it, certainly, and he might have unblocked it in a moment of weakness only months later, but he didn’t _delete_ it, and now he’s lying about that fact, so clearly he’s off to a _great start_ at demonstrating just how fine he is with the situation.

“That’s too bad,” Taeil says.

Jaehyun had not been expecting that. “It is?” he says.

Taeil nods. “Mm. It would have made contacting him a lot easier.” At what must be Jaehyun’s blank look he continues, “I figured we should follow whatever leads we have in terms of running down our primary witnesses. I can call Chaeyoung afterwards and see if she can help, but Taeyong knows them all too.”

Jaehyun opens and closes his mouth a few times. That makes sense. “Surely he left contact info,” he says, moving for the files in question on his desk.

“Oh, he did,” Taeil says before he can reach anything. “But I’m betting it’s not his _personal_ number, you know?”

Jaehyun clears his throat. “Yeah,” he says, trying to figure out the best way to confess his falsehoods. “Uh…”

Taeil’s eyes soften. “Oh, Jaehyunnie,” he says. “It’s been three years.”

Jaehyun sticks his nose in the air and pulls out his phone, standing from his desk and making to go take the call somewhere less public. “You were saying it would be much easier than having to go through his entourage?” he says, as he goes.

Taeil sighs but is kind enough not to comment. “Just get us something, yeah? I wasn’t counting on using my police training to camp outside of a film set just to get a hold of my prime witness, you know.”

Jaehyun waves him off. “Yeah yeah—” He walks around a corner and unlocks the phone. Then he spends at least three seconds simply staring blankly at his contacts app. Taeyong is in his phone as `Royal Bastard` because Jaehyun was drunk when he unblocked him, and by the time he was sober enough to change it—and get his phone back from Johnny—he was too embarrassed at the thought of even going in to change it back.

Jaehyun steels himself, reiterates mentally that this is a professional work request, and hits call. Taeyong doesn’t have a ringback tone anymore. Jaehyun tries not to read into that.

“Hello?” Taeyong sounds hesitant but did pick up after only the second ring.

“You didn’t change your number,” Jaehyun says, which is potentially up there for the stupidest way he could have led into the conversation, given things. Just because Taeil has carte blanche to boot Jaehyun off the case the moment there starts being an actual conflict of interest does not mean Jaehyun should be doing his best to create one. “I mean.”

“Jae—Jeong-hyungsanim.” Taeyong briefly stutters, but his tone gives away nothing.

Jaehyun gets his own shit together. “Taeyong-ssi.” He wonders if Taeyong hates the formality as much as he does. “Hi.”

Taeyong pauses. “Hi,” he says finally.

Jaehyun _actually_ gets his shit together. “I’m following up with the people you let leave this morning.” Even he winces at the brusqueness of his voice, so he tries to soften it. “They’re proving hard to reach.”

“Ah,” Taeyong says. Jaehyun can’t get a read on him, and that’s pissing him off.

“Yeah, ‘ah.’” He bites his lip. “You wouldn’t happen to know where any of them may be, would you?”

Taeyong is quiet for a long, long moment. “Not right now, no,” he says finally.

Jaehyun shuts his eyes and goes to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Okay—thanks anyway—”

“But I do know where they’ll all be on Tuesday,” Taeyong continues suddenly.

Jaehyun squints open his eyes. “On Tuesday.”

“At Hong Jaesung’s apartment,” Taeyong says. “Eunsung-hyung’s younger brother? He’s throwing a memorial party.”

Jaehyun does the quick math. “That’s four days from now,” he says.

“I’m glad to see all those years at KNPU have provided you with basic addition skills.”

Jaehyun could just strangle him. “His brother is throwing a ‘memorial party’ four days after he died? That’ll be only _two days_ after the funeral.”

“He says it’s ‘what Hyung would have wanted,’” says Taeyong, clearly quoting this Hong Jaesung.

Jaehyun vaguely remembers Lee Junghee’s second son, since both of them garnered quite the reputation for their busy social calendars, but other than that bit of knowledge, he’s coming up blank. So he decides to pick his battles, and then steps around the corner to gesture at Taeil, walking closer to the desk as he goes. He mimes pad and paper, and Taeil immediately grabs both. “So you’re saying all four of my witnesses will be at this party Hong Jaesung is throwing on Tuesday,” he says once he gets within earshot, pausing to mouth, _Dongsaeng, dongsaeng—younger brother_ , in Taeil’s direction. “On the”—he falters, and Taeil frantically flips around his desk calendar—“thirty-first.”

“Yes.” Taeyong lets the affirmative drag on. “You’re not going to get in though.”

Jaehyun grits his teeth. “Are _you_ going to be there, by any chance?” he says.

Taeil has finished writing down the relevant information and stands like he’s going to get close. Jaehyun holds up a hand.

“Most likely, yes,” Taeyong says. “He was my cousin. And Chaeyoung-noona will be there.”

“Any chance _you_ could get me in?” Jaehyun wonders if he sounds like he’s pulling teeth, because he certainly feels like it.

Taeyong is silent for a beat. “Are you asking me on a date, Jaehyun-ssi?”

It’s the first time he’s used Jaehyun’s first name. Jaehyun doesn’t want to begin to unravel what his stomach is doing in response to that. He freezes, feeling heat coloring both his cheeks, and Taeil takes a step forward.

“I—yeah, actually.” Jaehyun smiles brightly and waves Taeil off, giving him an equally-forced thumbs up. “If it’ll get me in to interview the witnesses, sure. If you want it to be a date, it’s a date.”

“Great.” Taeyong’s tone is still fucking unreadable and Jaehyun wants to _punch something_. He’s _still_ blushing. Surely that cannot be _fair_. “Pick me up around eight? You know the place.”

“Yeah— _you live in the palace_ ,” Jaehyun tries to say—to get the last word in—but Taeyong has already hung up the phone.

Jaehyun spends several painful moments just breathing with his eyes closed. Then he opens them, puts away his phone, and goes back to his desk. He’s only just sat down to start poking around on DC in search of information about the celebrities at Eunsung’s party, when Taeil speaks.

“So, a date, huh?”

Jaehyun nearly jumps out of his skin. “No,” he says, already shaking his head. “No—not a date—just information gathering. And _five_ of our main suspects will be there. Six if we count—but we’re not counting—stop looking at me like that—” Jaehyun picks up the stack of files from NIS and starts straightening them.

“Neither Park Woojin nor Kim Hajoon panned out, by the way,” Taeil offers suddenly, making Jaehyun look at him in confusion. He hasn’t sat back down and is just standing at the start of the row of Jaehyun, Johnny, and his desks. “The ones with priors? Both of _them_ were available, but they both also left well before time of death and had airtight alibis.” He smiles like the cat who got the canary. “You said ‘five of our main suspects,’” he says. “It’s actually all—until we get a better list.”

Jaehyun is starting to feel like he’s getting whiplash from the conversation. “Yeah,” he says.

Johnny appears back at his own desk sans Jiwoo; Jaehyun realizes he hadn’t noticed the two of them had left at some point when he was on the phone.

“Glad to know it’s not a date, though,” says Taeil brightly, finally sitting. Jaehyun may just snap and commit a murder after all.

“Jaehyunnie has a date?” asks Johnny.

Jaehyun chucks his post-its at Taeil. “Say _nothing_ —it’s not a real date!”

Taeil doesn’t even dodge, Jaehyun’s throw is so bad. “Does _he_ know that?”

Jaehyun opens his mouth.

Taeil raises his brows.

Jaehyun closes his mouth.

“You’re welcome,” says Taeil.

Johnny looks between the two of them with earnest confusion. “Sorry,” he says. “Who are we talking about?”

And Jaehyun nearly bursts into flames then and there, but he’s saved by the appearance of Byoungjun-hyung, walking by their row of desks with purpose. “I see canoodling!” the man barks, and all three of them face forward, chastised.

“I’ll tell you later,” Jaehyun tells Johnny out of the side of his mouth, and double clicks on `DCinside.com.`

It’s not a real date.

Taeyong knows that.

Doesn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is complete and will update weekly. See you all next Friday!
> 
> A note, now that I am revealed. Aixing thought it would be helpful to have a character list while reading, so I have written the full line of succession, which can be found on my [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/royalau). 
> 
> Share this fic on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835).


	2. Two

Before Tuesday, Jaehyun allows himself one moment of panic, in which he calls Taeyong back to confirm, “You know this isn’t actually a date, right, like I’m just trying to solve your cousin’s murder—”

“Yes, Jeong-hyungsanim. Rest assured. That was evident,” says Taeyong, with that same unflappable, unreadable calm, and Jaehyun has to work really, really hard not to throw his phone across the station.

He spends the rest of Friday wading through social media while Taeil runs down a few more leads—trying to catch one of the actors leaving set and having no luck. By the time Johnny is forcing Jaehyun to his feet and dragging him out of the doors to the precinct, Jaehyun is nearly cross-eyed from staring at a computer for too long. He has a much better understanding of the events of Eunsung’s party, however—and of the man himself. He also has come to the conclusion that the life Hong Eunsung lived could not have been more different from the one Jaehyun has lived, and possibly—potentially, _maybe_ —he’s bitten off more than he can chew in deciding to go to the party his brother is throwing two days after his funeral in _memoriam_. Like. Two hours on social media duty was enough for Jaehyun to conclude that he does not have the wardrobe for such an event. Let alone a comparable list of acquaintances.

Of the people _not_ likely to have killed Eunsung by virtue of when they were seen out that night afterwards, Jaehyun finds four more actors and actresses, two boy group members who are solidly too new to be out partying, let alone partying with _royalty_ , and an assortment of Chaebols from all walks of life and every industry, including one whose family makes those things that go on the end of shoelaces—aglets, Jaehyun learns that evening. It’s mindless, tedious work, and very sobering. Taeyong features in only a few photos and videos on Instagram, but Jaehyun doesn’t search him out—doesn’t watch the video where he gets roped into playing a round of beer pong with Chaeyoung as his partner, and somehow manages to make it seem like it’s her idea to drink all their shots.

Not everything has changed, Jaehyun notes, and that’s probably the most sobering thing. Jaehyun had been doing good, these last three years, even though… well there’d been plenty of blind dates, and one-night stands, but nothing… substantial. It puts him off-balance, all the rest of Friday and most of the weekend.

Eunsung’s funeral is held Sunday. Taeil and Jaehyun spend Monday alternating between going down the list of partygoers and trying desperately to communicate to incredibly annoyed bodyguards and managers that they _really, really_ need to speak to their charges, to no avail. Jaehyun also spends Monday slowly coming to the conclusion that on Tuesday evening he’s going to have to go to a party with his ex-boyfriend.

On Tuesday, Jaehyun heads to the precinct as normal, runs down a few leads for Johnny on his own case, and slowly works himself into a panic until seven-thirty, wherein he clocks out, and heads home to change. He goes for jeans, a button down, and a leather jacket, trying to emulate something more reminiscent of cool, Hollywood policeman than bargain-bin stylish; it’s not a complete failure, Jaehyun concludes, staring at his reflection in the elevator down to the garage.

By the time he’s pulling his car up to the familiar gates of Gyeongbokgung palace, Jaehyun is just starting to feel like he has things under control.

Then he sees that Minhyuk is on guard duty.

Jaehyun literally has the worst luck.

For two horrible seconds, the both of them just stare at each other through their various bits of glass, shocked into silence. Then Jaehyun takes his hands off the wheel and puts on his best professional smile. He rolls down the window. “Hi,” he says. “I’m here to see Lee Taeyong.” The last time he saw Minhyuk, he was also on his way to see Lee Taeyong, but it involved less official business and much more sneaking onto the palace grounds because his asshole boyfriend the sort-of-prince told him it would be fine. It was almost a national incident. Jaehyun refused to put out for at least two weeks because of it. Minhyuk thought the entire thing was hilarious. It’s probably not helping Jaehyun’s case at the moment, however. He passes over his badge and ID regardless. “I, uh. He should be expecting me?”

Minhyuk takes the badge and ID, all without breaking eye contact. He puts them up to the scanner to make sure they’re legitimate, and then goes to make a copy. “Jaehyun,” he says finally. “It’s been a long time.” He’s mostly just staring, even as the rest of him is going through the motions as usual. It’s very unsettling.

“I’m here as Jeong-hyungsa, actually,” Jaehyun says, more than a little uncomfortable. He likes Minhyuk, of course. He used to have this rapport going with the man back when he would reward himself for doing well on exams or not failing out of the KNPU with a trip up to Jongno; they had very similar taste in music, and Jaehyun has added more than a few records in his collection because of the man. It should have occurred to Jaehyun that there would have been no reason for there to be any changes of royal staff—in the grand scheme of things, Jaehyun and Taeyong breaking up hadn’t even made the news—but still…

Minhyuk finishes with Jaehyun’s ID and badge and hands them back over. Then he hits a button, muttering, “Changmin-hyung? I’ve got Jeong Jaehyun here to see TY?”

“Yeah, we’re expecting him,” Changmin’s voice comes back, briskly and instantly. “Residential quarters—the Princess’s suites.”

Jaehyun does a frantic check of how many princesses he could be talking about and concludes it must be Taeyong’s sister, because there would be no reason for Taeyong to be hanging around the daughters of the king, or his sister. Then he has to take a moment just to force himself to breathe, because this means he has to interact with Taeyong’s sister. And possibly with his nephew. Definitely with his dog. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Gun?”

Jaehyun shakes his head. “I’m not armed. I can get out of the car—”

Minhyuk waves him off. “You can go through,” he says. “Park in the visitor lot—you know where it is. Someone will meet you there.”

Jaehyun is going to _hear_ about this. He still has Minhyuk’s number but hasn’t texted him once in all three years; this little meeting is very clearly going to change that.

“Thank you,” Jaehyun says somehow, bowing his head, and rolls up the window. Then he goes to park in the visitor lot.

Several moments later, Jaehyun is deposited by palace security just outside the open door to what appears to be an office. Nobody spoke to him on the way over (which was terrifying) and nobody speaks to him as they leave. Jaehyun raises a hand to wave goodbye, but the men in matching suits barely afford him more than a glance. Jaehyun is left standing with his hand held limply in the air, listening to Taeyong and his sister talk from the shadows like some sort of creep. He should go in. He doesn’t. Instead, he furrows his brow as Taeyong’s sister tries to convince Taeyong to… celebrate his birthday? Jaehyun tilts his head to the side. It is close to July 1—and fuck that Jaehyun still _knows that_ —but surely Taeyong wouldn’t have to be convinced to celebrate?

But that’s definitely what they’re talking about when Taeyong says, “Noona, the more you keep trying to get me to pick a font the less I want to pick one—we’re not even having the party so making invitations is _useless_.” Birthday party invitations. For Taeyong. Whose birthday is in under a month.

Jaehyun swallows.

“Taeyong-ah.” Taeyong’s sister’s voice is just as no-nonsense as Jaehyun remembers it, and he’s reminded that he actually did meet-the-parents—meet-the- _royal_ -parents. _Fuck_.

“Noona,” Taeyong sing-songs right back. “It’s just a birthday. It’s not like I’m turning thirty.”

Something goes down that Jaehyun can’t see, because Taeyong’s sister sounds significantly more pleased when she speaks next. “So when you turn thirty you’ll do it?” she says brightly.

Jaehyun doesn’t get to hear the answer to that question, because he is interrupted by a voice coming suddenly from below him. “Ahjusshi, it’s not nice to listen,” the voice says, and Jaehyun nearly leaps out of his skin.

It’s lucky Jaehyun is in plain clothes and not carrying his gun. As it stands, Jaehyun still ends up slapping a hand to his chest and biting off a swear. In the room, both Taeyong and his sister fall silent.

The kid that must be Taeyong’s nephew (who was barely more than a toddler last Jaehyun saw him, what the fuck?) simply stares up at him, holding a toy car in one hand and a heavily protected iPad in the other. An iPad. Taeyong’s nephew has a fucking _iPad_.

Taeyong’s sister calls for her son, but Jaehyun is too busy panicking to focus, missing most of the sentence, and hearing only, “It’s rude to call a stranger ‘ahjusshi.’”

“Ahjusshi,” he hears Taeyong say. “He’s only two years younger than me—yah! Do you think Samchon is old?”

Taeyong’s nephew just grins, showing Jaehyun a missing front tooth, before skipping around the corner. “The man is listening,” he hears the kid say. (He must be—fuck—six, now? Maybe? Jaehyun feels suddenly _ancient_.) “It’s not nice.”

“The detective,” Taeyong’s sister corrects. “Jeong-hyungsanim. Jaehyun-ah—you can come out now.”

“Yeah, Jaehyun-ssi.” Taeyong sounds particularly gleeful to get to use Jaehyun’s first name, even though he’s still being painfully polite about it. “Come on out.”

Jaehyun allows himself one moment to compose himself, before stepping around the corner with purpose. For the most part, he thinks he manages to come off unaffected. There’s a moment when he falters; when he sees Taeyong, dressed surprisingly simply for a party in jeans and a t-shirt, looking just as—just as he had been when Jaehyun saw him not days ago. Only his hair is different, a soft, neutral looking blond instead of bright red. There’s no product in it tonight either, leaving it soft and fluffy-looking. Jaehyun tells himself that’s the reason he stares, and nothing else—the color change, not because he suddenly itches to run his hands through it.

The room they’re in must be Taeyong’s office, even though it’s in his sister’s wing. Something about the color scheme fits with what Taeyong’s part of the palace had looked like, last Jaehyun saw it. Jaehyun hates that he can think that seriously.

The main feature is the large, ornate looking desk taking up most of the space, bracketed by bookshelves. To Jaehyun’s left there is an understated sitting area made up of a couch, a glass table, and two chairs. Taeyong’s sister is over by the desk, Taeyong is standing in front of it, and as Jaehyun watches, Taeyong’s nephew scampers around to get into the main chair beside his mother. He sets down the car with delicate care, then slams the iPad face down in a move that all the adults in the room wince at. Then he smiles.

“Hello, Jeong-hyungsanim,” he says. “I guess it is nice to meet you.”

“Oh, you guess,” Taeyong’s sister says. She runs fingers through her son’s hair, before stepping out from behind the desk. “Come on. Let’s leave your uncle alone—”

“Mom,” whines Taeyong’s nephew, but she is unmoved.

The car goes with, but when the kid tries to take the iPad, he gets a solid chiding from both of his adult relatives. Jaehyun notices that Taeyong very quickly flips the thing onto it’s back, and has to cover his mouth to hide his laugh.

“Jaehyun-ah.” Taeyong’s sister’s voice breaks through Jaehyun’s good mood. “You know Taeyong”—that’s true, but Jaehyun still winces—“Which do _you_ think is better?” She thrusts two pieces of paper into Jaehyun’s face, and he has no choice but to take them.

They appear to be invitations—or mock invitations, since when he flips them open, he finds nothing about location or time—detailing how the recipient is cordially invited to the celebration of Taeyong’s twenty-eighth birthday on July 1. It also includes Taeyong’s full title, and Jaehyun opens his mouth to speak.

Taeyong beats him before he can. “Don’t you _dare_. Noona—don’t give him that—we’re not doing anything.”

Taeyong’s sister is unrepentant, smiling at her brother with utter innocence. “Fine,” she says. “Don’t decide yet—there’s still time—Jaehyun?”

Jaehyun manages to stop looking between both calligraphy options and look at her, feeling like he’s being spun in circles. “Uh, yes—”

“Keep them.” At Taeyong’s appalled sputter, she just laughs. “Be nice, Tyong-ah. Also, remember—Donghae-oppa’s exhibit opening is next month, and we’d all love it if you took someone who wasn’t family—”

Taeyong’s ears burn bright red. “ _Noona_!” he hisses.

“I’m just saying!” his sister says. Then she takes her kid in hand, and they’re both gone.

For two more seconds, Jaehyun is frozen in shock, then he very quickly pockets both cards, thankful that the jacket he picked has deep ones. He turns to face Taeyong. He decides to ignore Taeyong’s sister’s last sentence. He _smiles_ , extra professionally. “Taeyong-ssi.”

There is a look on Taeyong’s face for a split second makes Jaehyun’s traitorous heart _hurt_ , before the both of them get themselves under control. Taeyong transforms back into something more deserving of the title “Prince” and Jaehyun doesn’t disgrace the entire Police Agency.

“Jeong-hyungsanim,” says Taeyong. “You’re early.”

Jaehyun really _isn’t_ and so he stares. He can see the moment Taeyong realizes, watches his eyes glance at the clock hanging above the door, and pink floods his cheeks.

“Sorry,” Taeyong says. He crosses around the desk and picks up a jacket—Jaehyun hadn’t even noticed it—and then looks around. “Uh—wait here. I need to change—I’ll just be a moment—Changmin-hyung!”

Taeyong’s bodyguard appears as if summoned through a ritual and not just by his name.

“Can you watch him, please?” Then Taeyong is gone out of the office as well, so quickly that Jaehyun only barely manages to register that he’s not wearing socks.

Neither he nor Changmin say anything for thirty painful seconds. But when Jaehyun finally does open his mouth, Changmin just stares him down, and Jaehyun decides he’d rather look around. He charts the growth of Taeyong’s nephew through the photographs on the desk and starts to read the titles of the books on the shelves. He taps the iPad mostly for something to do and is faced with a clearly self-taken photo of Taeyong and Ruby. That’s another sharp pang somewhere in his chest, so Jaehyun goes back to the books. Only—terribly—he thinks he recognizes some of the titles. It takes a while—three, maybe five minutes pretending he’s awful at reading hangul while Changmin just looms—but eventually Jaehyun is left with nothing but the knowledge that not only has Taeyong remembered the books that brought them together, but also has gone out and bought them.

Jaehyun runs a finger along the words _Ancient Korean Agriculture_ and doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Jaehyunnie?”

He looks up, and Taeyong is in the doorway, dressed for a party now. His shirt is black with alternating solid stripes and sheer ones, so that he can button it all the way up to his throat and get away with it. He’s lost the blue jeans and traded them in for a tighter black pair. His hair is still blond, but not soft anymore. Instead it’s styled off his forehead, artfully curving over one perfectly defined brow.

Jaehyun regrets all of his life choices.

Changmin steps forward. “We’re taking one of our cars,” he tells Jaehyun, all without looking at him, and then leaves the room without glancing back. Clearly, he expects them to both just _follow_ , and while Jaehyun does, it’s hard not to exchange a look with Taeyong—or roll his eyes. He feels like he’s stepped back in time, and the thought is just sobering enough for Jaehyun to finally get himself together. This isn’t a date. This is work, and important work. A man has died, and Jaehyun is only here—only following Taeyong and his bodyguard through the maze of Gyeongbokgung palace—because he needs access to his prime suspects.

* * *

Security at Hong Jaesung’s party is already a massive step up from the security at Hong Eunsung’s mansion. Changmin leaves them grudgingly in the lobby, where a doorman has to call up to the apartment to confirm their name being on the guest list before he’ll allow them to go up. He asks for ID as well, and there’s some tension when Jaehyun hands over his badge for identification—“Why is some cop named Jeo—Jeo—some cop coming to my party?” Jaehyun hears Jaesung saying loudly, clearly already a little drunk, despite it only nearing nine—but Taeyong gets on the phone with him and smooths over all the ruffled feathers.

“Yes, Jeong Jaehyun,” he explains, with a winning smile that Jaesung can’t see, but hopefully can hear. “You remember Jaehyunnie—we dated in 2018. Book Guy.” Taeyong looks severely apologetic, but Jaehyun just uses the pang in his chest as a reminder of how very much he’s here in a professional capacity. And at least his history with Taeyong means that Jaesung doesn’t seem very suspect. In fact once Jaesung gets on board, he seems to be unable to get off board. Taeyong practically has to hang up on him, smiling brightly at the doorman, now, as he does. “We’re going now, Hyung,” he says, going to grab Jaehyun’s badge—and then stopping when he sees his face. He looks over his shoulder for Changmin. “I’d say don’t wait up…”

Changmin flips him off.

“You’re not taking him with you?” Jaehyun says quietly, as they step into the elevator and Taeyong presses the button for the top floor. Penthouse. Typical.

“No, Jaesung-hyung doesn’t want this to be too formal,” Taeyong explains. “Anyway, there’s only the one way in—I’m a lot safer than I was last week.” He looks briefly guilty. “Changmin-hyung wasn’t there then.”

Jaehyun would bet money Taeyong got told off for that. “Right,” he says, slipping his hand out of his pocket without his badge, and then staring uncomfortably at the elevator doors. At least no one else is in it with them.

The person who lets them into the apartment doesn’t stick around to introduce themselves, and Jaehyun takes a moment, waiting for Taeyong to finish with his shoes, to just stare. The place is just as extravagant as he’d expected when Changmin pulled into the garage, but it’s the view of the city out of the wall-to-ceiling glass windows of the city that takes Jaehyun’s breath away. He thinks he could live in a one-bedroom, one-bathroom shack of an apartment if he had to anyway, but if it had this view, he’d be more than fine.

The place isn’t as packed as Jaehyun had been expecting, but the excess of bodies means that he’s definitely going to have to lose the outerwear. His badge goes into his left pocket, his phone into his right, and then he grins, trying not to seem too out of place, when one of the very pretty people disengages from the crowd to take Jaehyun’s jacket. Taeyong didn’t wear one, but stays while Jaehyun makes a note of where it’s being hung in the closet with the rest of them.

There are so many rooms, but plenty of windows and only—hopefully—the main entrance. Jaehyun counts at least twenty people, and sighs.

“I’d forgotten how you do that,” Taeyong says, more an aside than anything, and Jaehyun decides to just ignore it.

“So,” he says. “What now?”

“Now,” Taeyong says, glancing around the room. “We mingle.” He looks a little apologetic. “Jiyoo-noona is always fashionably late to these things but I—I come early and leave early. It would have been weird if I broke that pattern today.”

Jaehyun has to concede that makes a lot of sense, but still feels twitchy at the prospect of having to mingle at a party like this. He spots Lee Taejoon over by the television conversing with two tall, well dressed men, and gestures. “Is there any reason I can’t talk to them separately?”

Taeyong shrugs. “I guess. I just thought you’d want to see them interact.”

Jaehyun sighs. “You’re right—I do want to see that. But I also want to see if their stories match up later—come on.”

He starts across the floor towards Taejoon with purpose, but Taeyong halts him with a hand on his arm. When Jaehyun turns to look, he lifts his chin. “Jaehyun-ah,” Taeyong says. “Be more subtle.”

Jaehyun glares. “I do know how to do my job, Taeyong-ssi,” he says with a curled lip, and Taeyong takes his hand off his arm like he’s touched fire.

Across the room, a man who can only be Hong Jaesung notices them both, taking a step forward with a drink in his hand and a man on both arms. “Taeyongie!” he says loudly. “And—Jeong—Taeyongie’s _friend_! Book Guy!”

Jaehyun doesn’t understand what it is about his name that’s giving Jaesung so much trouble, but he smiles, aware they have the attention of the full room.

“Hi, Hyung,” Taeyong calls back, waving. Then he turns back to Jaehyun. “Hold on a second—let me get a drink.” He starts to walk them towards the kitchen before he finishes speaking, and Jaehyun feels his already tenuous control slip even more.

“I thought you couldn’t hold your alcohol?” he says before he can think, louder than he’d intended.

The two guys over with Lee Taejoon turn to look, Jaesung seems to falter, and Taeyong colors, two streaks of bright red flooding across his unfairly sharp cheekbones. A muscle in his jaw twitches—drawing Jaehyun’s attention to the perfect line of the bone there—the kind of bone structure people get plastic surgery for, and that Taeyong was simply born with.

“I’m getting fucking water, you asshole,” he snaps back. Then he leaves before Jaehyun can say so much as another word.

After two seconds of incredibly awkward silence, Jaesung crosses the floor with his entourage and pats Jaehyun on the shoulder as he goes past. “Chin up, Book Guy,” he says. “I know how it is when you get back together with an old flame.”

It’s a testament to his six-plus years in police work that Jaehyun doesn’t start crying-laughing. Instead, he somehow gets his shit together, crossing the floor himself and heading for Lee Taejoon, who is easy enough to strike up a conversation with. Jaehyun doesn’t want to lead with his profession, but the man is surprisingly skilled at evading any and all mention of the man of the hour. Jaehyun leaves the conversation with a greater appreciation for his filmography, but no more information.

It’s the same with everyone else. Haruka is fluent in Korean but shy, Jiyoo is still missing in action, as is Chaeyoung (Jaehyun still doesn’t know if she’s dating the host of the party, which is worrying), and Lee Doyeon is startling pretty in person, to the point where Jaehyun spends the first few seconds of their conversation sort of taken aback by how much so. He’s not afraid to admit that; he did watch at least one of her dramas, the one with Ok Taecyeon. But while she’s a little more willing to entertain discussion about Eunsung’s life and adventures than anyone else, she’s also clearly too smart for Jaehyun to risk being outed as not having known the deceased beyond him being a murder victim whose killer he’s charged with finding. 

Taeyong shows up again holding a cup of water sometime later, looking significantly less pissed off having been away from Jaehyun for a few minutes—Jaehyun’s not going to be upset about that because that would be pointless and not part of doing his job—and things start to go a little better now that Jaehyun’s not a complete outsider. But Taeyong does a lot of touching—and while Jaehyun wouldn’t have minded three years ago, at present, it’s all he can do not to too obviously startle every time Taeyong’s hand lands on the small of his back or on his arm and shoulder.

Jaehyun’s twitchy. He’s a little tired. Kim Jiyoo _is still missing in action_.

“You’re sure she’ll be here?” he ends up asking Taeyong, almost all the way half past ten, standing in a corner over by Jaesung’s record collection, honestly a little jealous, but still on high alert.

“Yeah.” At least Taeyong looks about as worn down as Jaehyun feels. His cheeks are a little flushed and his hair is starting to wilt after too long spent among warm bodies, but he’s still unfairly pretty, and Jaehyun definitely refuses to admit to thinking _that_.

“It had better be soon,” Jaehyun says out of the side of his mouth, in time for the doors to the penthouse to open, and Kim Jiyoo to come in accompanied by Chaeyoung, who is dressed in significantly more clothing than she had been when Jaehyun saw her last.

Upon spotting them, Hong Jaesung abandons his hangers-on and goes to greet them both with big hugs, spending a lot more time with Kim Jiyoo, who—to Jaehyun’s speechless disbelief—immediately bursts into tears.

“You were saying?” Taeyong says, watching as Jaesung pats Jiyoo on the back and Chaeyoung stands awkwardly at their side, smiling pleasantly around the room. After a moment’s pause and quite a bit more patting on the back, Jaesung pulls away from Jiyoo and greets Chaeyoung with a kiss. That answers the question of if he’s the one Chaeyoung is dating, but raises a whole new one: did Jaesung know Chaeyoung formerly dated his older brother, and vice versa?

“Get me alone in a room with all five of them, and then we’ll talk,” Jaehyun mutters, still way too sober for all this rich people nonsense.

Taeyong fucking _smirks_.

* * *

Nearly thirty minutes later, Jaehyun finds himself seated awkwardly on something he has to call a settee, facing down a row of attractive, wide-eyed faces. Taeyong has managed to get them lined up on one couch, sitting hip-to-hip, practically on top of one another. Taejoon and Jiyoo have ended up sitting as the bookends, Chaeyoung next to Taejoon, Haruka next to Jiyoo, and Doyeon right smack in the middle. There’s little to no real privacy—every so often someone will wander in and laugh their way right back out—and Jaehyun should really talk to them one-on-one, but it’s clearly the best Jaehyun’s going to get. In fact when he asks Taeyong about the possibility of speaking to them one after another, Taeyong just stares back at him, the look on his face suggesting that Jaehyun would have better luck herding cats. So he gets his notebook out, puts his shoulders back, and does his job.

“Right,” he says, scrawling out the date and time after confirming it on his phone.

“Can we see your badge?” Taejoon interrupts, looking at Jaehyun suspiciously. “I mean I trust Taeyongie and Chaeyoungie, obviously, but…” He trails off, like the end of his sentence is abundantly clear to everyone, and Jaehyun doesn’t let it get to him.

“Of course.” He hands over the thing in question. Taejoon is easily the tallest person at the party, having to be at least 185 centimeters, or maybe even 186. His features are pretty distinct on top of all that—a cupid’s bow mouth, large, monolid eyes, and something the internet definitely calls a “tear mole”; Jaehyun looked it up. All together he makes the most intimidating picture, and so Jaehyun decides to go there first. “Taejoon-ssi,” he says, as Taejoon passes his badge down the line all without losing eye contact. “How did you know the deceased?”

“We dated,” Taejoon says finally, without even exchanging a glance with his fellows. “Isn’t that why you gathered us all here?”

Jaehyun shoots Taeyong a quick glance from where he’s been standing awkwardly near the door with his hands in both pockets. He has to hand it to him—that’s much less alarming than telling them they’re all here because they left the scene of a crime four days ago. “Yes. When did the two of you date?”

“2019,” Taejoon says, and Jaehyun pauses.

“2019,” he repeats, glancing at Doyeon. “I thought you dated him in 2019.”

“They dated before we did,” says Doyeon, sounding perfectly at ease. Jaehyun thinks if she could get away with it, she’d be picking her nails. “Taejoonie introduced us.”

Jaehyun has to think about that for a moment. “So you two dated in December”—over in the corner, Taeyong makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like the sentence, “So you were following entertainment news, Jaehyunnie, huh?”—“and two of you dated in…” He trails off and waits for Taejoon to fill in the information.

“November,” Taejoon says. He also sounds at ease, and Jaehyun decides he clearly doesn’t understand celebrities. “We broke up when I started filming _Next Door Doctor_ —you know, for SBS?” Taejoon smiles, which makes Jaehyun think he’s just rambling, not bragging. It’s unsettling how disarming it is. Jaehyun should be treating them all with caution. “We decided it was better to just stay friends. And then he started dating Doyeon, and I thought they were cute together.”

Jaehyun’s pen stutters a little. “You thought they were cute together,” he repeats.

“I mean we were,” Doyeon says.

Jaehyun glances at her. “So why did the two of you break up? Like really break up, not what the papers reported. I doubt you’d have managed to hide a secret child for three years.”

Taeyong coughs this time, and Jaehyun glares.

“I didn’t say anything.” Taeyong raises his hands. “You just have a surprising amount of knowledge of the contents of late 2019 gossip rags.”

Jaehyun doesn’t rise to the bait on that, instead focusing his full attention on Doyeon. “Doyeon-ssi?”

“I didn’t like the spotlight,” she says straightforwardly, dipping her head a little in clear embarrassment. “I mean—the _royal_ spotlight. We’d been on maybe three dates, and people were already talking about how I was an embarrassment to the entire peninsula. It was a lot.”

Jaehyun very pointedly doesn’t look at Taeyong, instead asking, “And was Eunsung mad about that?”

Doyeon’s expression falters, honest shock showing through. “Oh, of course not, no,” she says emphatically, shaking her head wholeheartedly. “He completely understood. And we’re much better off as just friends, anyway.”

Jaehyun stares down at his notes, working hard not to frown. He has two people with very good motives to kill… if they had any hard feelings about the circumstances of their ended relationships. And he believes them both; they seem very sincere.

“We dated next,” Jiyoo says. “In March 2021.”

Jaehyun writes that down.

“We didn’t last.” She pauses for a long time, and eventually Jaehyun looks up.

“Yes?” he prompts. “And?”

Jiyoo glances around. “Well—”

The door opens, a clearly inebriated couple stumbling in with their arms around each other, laughing. They spot Taeyong and draw to a startled halt but are clearly too far gone to know what to do after that. For a few seconds they all just stare at each other, and then the guy sets down his glass of whatever alcohol on one of the book shelves—Taeyong has a wrinkle between his brows that belays he’s still that sort of person who religiously employs the use of coasters and is so anal about cleanliness that members of his extended family actually jokingly call him “Prince Febreeze”—and then they leave, laughing once more.

“Sorry—my bad,” the man says, stumbling back out the door, and the woman just giggles.

Jaehyun waits until they’ve left completely before going back to his line of questioning. “You were saying?” he says.

“We broke up because we uh”—Jiyoo’s words are so soft and smooshed together Jaehyun doesn’t understand—“so yeah, but it wasn’t a big deal. And I couldn’t hold that against him—”

“Wait, say that again,” Jaehyun says, at the same time Taeyong gingerly picks up the man’s abandoned cup and then looks desperately around for anything to do with it, clearly hesitant to put liquid into the tastefully tiny trash can without any sort of bag liner. “You broke up because?”

“We had different tastes in bed,” Jiyoo says loudly, and Taeyong fumbles the cup. He doesn’t spill, but he does end up significantly closer to them all with it. Jiyoo reaches out and snags it from him, throwing it back without pause. “Thank you—fuck—that’s gross—who the fuck brought shit beer—”

Jaehyun can only stare, taken aback. “Uh—”

“I’ll spare you the specific details.” Jiyoo continues right where they’d left off as if nothing had happened, making frighteningly intense eye contact the whole time. “But they were irreconcilable differences.” She pulls a face, but Jaehyun can’t tell if it’s the aftertaste, or the subject matter that’s the cause. “As I said, I couldn’t hold it against him, and he couldn’t hold it against me, so we decided to just be friends.” 

Jaehyun somehow manages to nod. “Okay, then,” he says, writing down, _Broke up because of irreconcilable differences in the bedroom_ , and wondering how the hell this is his life. He looks between Chaeyoung and Haruka, and finds Chaeyoung looking back. “And you—”

“June 2020 to September 2020,” Chaeyoung says promptly, like she’s rehearsed it.

Jaehyun narrows his eyes.

Her cheeks warm. “What? You’ve been asking us all the same question.”

Jaehyun has to concede that point. “And you broke up because?”

“He made out with my sister,” Chaeyoung says promptly—an inside joke if Jaehyun ever heard one, because even over by the bookshelf, Taeyong snickers. Chaeyoung looks happily at him, and Jaehyun chews on his lower lip, suddenly feeling on edge.

“I see,” he says. “And did that upset you?”

“No.” Chaeyoung is still glancing at Taeyong, and Jaehyun glares.

Taeyong raises both hands. “Hey, I’m not doing anything,” he says. But then, looking significantly more apologetic he adds, “Look, you’ve clearly got this, so I’m just going to use the bathroom.”

He leaves, hands still raised, but instead of relaxing, Jaehyun feels more on edge without him there as backup. Which is weird. Taeyong isn’t backup. He’s just a means to an end.

“We dated the longest, I guess,” Haruka offers, unprompted, when Jaehyun looks back at them all. “In 2021. But I was living in Japan at the time, so it didn’t really work out.” Of the five of them he looks the closest to tears, and as one, both of the girls on either side of him put a hand on each of his legs. He smiles, a little watery. “I just moved back to Korea for good this year. We had plans to meet up for Hyung’s birthday next month.”

Jaehyun hates this part of his job—the people who were left behind. He gives the man his most honest smile. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Haruka nods, and then wipes quickly at his eyes.

Jaehyun very kindly pretends not to notice. “So, tell me about last Thursday,” he says. “You all stayed over in the mansion.”

The entire couch nods. “Yeah—we left early in the morning,” Taejoon says, clearly the chosen spokesperson.

“After the police had been called,” Jaehyun points out.

At least they all look uncomfortable, but no one looks guilty.

“Yes, well, I had a shoot. I didn’t want to get stuck,” Taejoon says.

“Same,” Doyeon says.

“My dad says you never willingly go to the police,” Jiyoo offers apologetically.

“Diplomatic immunity?” Haruka says, more a question than a statement.

“I stayed,” Chaeyoung says.

Jaehyun can already feel the stress headache building. “Right,” he says. “And none of you were awake at four a.m.?” At their blank looks he adds, “At the time of death?”

Jiyoo’s eyes widen. “You think one of _us_ killed Oppa?” she says.

Jaehyun’s stress headache blooms brilliantly right between his eyes. “Well you did all flee the scene of the crime. And then refuse to talk to my partner. That doesn’t look very good.”

There’s a chorus of denials from the couch that Jaehyun can’t help but say has to be legitimate. He knows half of them are trained, award winning actors, but he… he’s been doing this for four years (two of which were spent following some of the best people in the department) and he likes to think he’s a good enough judge of character to know lying when he sees it. Still. “And none of you had any hard feelings about breaking up?”

Taejoon blinks, in the middle of assuring Jaehyun that he was not awake until Taeyong and Chaeyoung came running back upstairs shouting about how Eunsung was _dead_. “No—as I said, it was just life.”

“Of course not,” Haruka confirms. “As Hyung said—it was life.”

“Oppa and I were friends before we were anything more, so no,” Jiyoo says, and Jaehyun could just scream.

He faces Chaeyoung. “And you?” he says. “You’re _sure_ you didn’t want to—to kill him for making out with your sister?”

Chaeyoung just blinks at him with large, wet eyes. “Of course not,” she says. “That would be terribly hypocritical of me. I made out with his brother, after all.” She flushes but doesn’t revert to embarrassment like she had the other day at Eunsung’s. “Am still making out with his brother—I mean—we’re dating, Jaesungie and I.”

Jaehyun can only stare, the notebook forgotten in his hands. There’s the answer to whether or not Chaeyoung was dating Hong Jaesung, and to if his brother knew. “I see,” he says finally. “And he was okay with that?”

“Oh, of course.” Chaeyoung pushes a few strands of hair behind her ears and sniffles. Jiyoo tuts, leaning around Haruka to put an arm on her shoulder, and Lee Taejoon—Lee _Taejoon_ —fucking _glares_ at Jaehyun, like he’s to blame for Chaeyoung’s emotional distress.

Jaehyun really needs Taeyong to get his ass back into the room. “Okay,” he starts to say. “So—” Then he’s interrupted when Taeyong gets his ass back into the room.

The door comes up with a bang, hitting the door jam and still somehow making noise. That’s enough to startle all of them into looking, Jaehyun’s question leaving his head immediately when he sees Taeyong. For a few seconds Taeyong just stands there with his chest heaving, one palm in the center of the door, holding it to the wall. Then he practically clamors further into the room, eyes the size of dinner plates, and goes stumbling towards all of them in lumbering, broken steps.

Jaehyun stands to meet him, alarmed. “Taeyong-hyung—”

Taeyong barrels into him, holding onto Jaehyun’s arms with hands that are still wet from the bathroom, his grip painfully tight. His nails bite through the fabric of Jaehyun’s dress shirt like it’s nothing and Jaehyun winces; that, coupled with suddenly having to bear Taeyong’s full weight, makes him stumble a little too. They end up mostly in the center of the home office, the rest of the couch frozen behind them.

“Taeyong-hyung,” Jaehyun says again, trying for soothing. “What—”

“Jaehyunnie,” Taeyong says—gasps—panic pouring off him in almost visible waves. “Jae—hyun.” He splits Jaehyun’s name right down in the middle he’s so freaked out, and Jaehyun feels his own anxiety spike in response.

“T-taeyong-hyung,” he says for the third time. The name comes out with a stutter, so he repeats it. “Taeyong-hyung. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Jaesung-hyung,” Taeyong says—gasps—eyes darting frantically around the room between Jaehyun and the frozen peanut gallery. “He—I—” He stops after that, almost like he can’t figure out what more to say. 

Jaehyun knows better than to shake him. He tires to keep his voice calm. “Taeyong—”

“Jaesung-hyung,” Taeyong says again, eyes somehow opening even wider. “Jae—”

An ear splitting scream pierces the air and Taeyong nearly leaps out of his skin. It’s only Jaehyun’s quick thinking that has _him_ grabbing him by the biceps and holding him steady. Taeyong’s eyes meet his again, the whites showing.

“Hyung,” Jaehyun says again. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that Taejoon and Chaeyoung have stood up simultaneously, Haruka grabbing Jiyoo by the hand and following shortly thereafter. Only Doyeon remains on the couch, seemingly frozen solid.

“What’s happening—” Doyeon starts to say, before the shouting starts, loud in the sudden quiet of the room.

“Help!” a woman cries. “Help! Oh my God, _help_!”

Jaehyun can’t just let go of Taeyong—who still looks about two seconds from fainting—but he’s a fucking cop and he can’t help the instinct to leap into action. Something of that must show on his face, because Taeyong seems to make a valiant effort to compose himself, even going so far to try to smile—

“Someone call the police!” the woman continues shouting, underscored by more panicked voices—someone frantically taking the lord’s name in vain over and over on seemingly unending repeat and another person calling out for, “Oppa? Oppa? Oppa!”—“Jaesung-oppa has been hurt! I think he’s _dead_!” the woman finishes with, and Jaehyun feels like his entire body has turned to stone. He looks desperately at Taeyong, for confirmation.

“In the bathroom,” Taeyong says, finally seeming capable of full sentences. “In the bathtub. He—he was still warm.” He looks like he’s going to be sick, and Jaehyun lets go of him just in time for him to make it to the plant in the corner of the room.

Doyeon makes a noise of protest as he gets within range. “Not the Ficus!” she says, which seems like an odd thing to be worried about to Jaehyun, but then, panic shows itself in odd ways.

Taeyong freezes bent over the plant and glares at her, but aside from some dry heaving, the contents of his stomach remain just that.

Jaehyun stares rather helplessly at him for a few moments, before getting his shit together. He grabs his badge out of his pocket and looks them all in the eye. He supposes this changes things. At least, assuming whoever attacked Jaesung was the same person who attacked Eunsung—what is Jaehyun saying. He doesn’t even know that there was any foul play. Last he saw Jaesung was _very drunk_. He might not even be _dead_. Although the look in Taeyong’s eyes… Jaehyun shakes his head.

Focus.

Get it together.

“All of you stay here,” Jaehyun says, in what Johnny jokingly calls his police tone. He goes for the door, barking over his shoulder, “And if _any of you leaves this party_ …” and letting it trail menacingly off.

Once he’s in the hallway he fumbles out his phone. Johnny or Taeil. Johnny or Taeil. Johnny’s most likely to be awake, but Taeil… Taeil is Jaehyun’s senior on the case. His fingerprint unlocks the screen and he’s relieved, even though in the past he thought it was a gross invasion of privacy. Taeil’s number is easy to find; by the time Jaehyun is down the hallway following the mass of panicked party-goers towards what has to be the bathroom in question, the phone is primed for him to dial. Fuck, but he should have called for more immediate backup. Changmin is downstairs in the lobby doing _nothing_. It’s too late to go back and demand Taeyong call him, though, so Jaehyun will just have to assume Taeyong has enough sense to do so anyway.

“Police,” he announces as he reaches the front of the gathered crowd, brandishing his badge. At least two of the people seem sober enough to be confused by how fast he’s arrived, so he adds, “I was already here—I know Taeyong—” There really isn’t enough room in the hallway for this many people, and Jaehyun can practically hear Kun’s lecture. “I need you all to move back—”

The crowd does, and Jaehyun enters the bathroom. The first thing he notices shower curtain has been pulled back, the rod at an awkward angle like whoever did that was more than a little panicked, and that the sink is still running, which explains Taeyong’s still wet hands. Jaehyun reaches out idly to shut off the stream, leaving the room filled with silence and panicked breathing. Hong Jaesung lies in the bathtub on his back with his head fallen to the side and his arms fallen akimbo. He could almost be sleeping, if it weren’t for the way his eyes are open and unstaring.

His body looks like it has been disturbed—surely whoever put him here had closed the curtain, so Jaehyun supposes that’s not entirely unexpected—but it—Jaehyun reaches out a hand, still holding his badge, and touches the skin of his throat just to make sure. Warm, and without a pulse. He shuts his eyes. Then he pulls his hand back and turns to face the crowd.

“He’s dead,” he confirms, and a woman at the front of the crowd collapses, the people around her barely managing to catch her and keep her upright. Someone else starts weeping. More than a few people start panicking. Jaehyun needs to get this situation under control. “You need to stay calm—but no one can leave this apartment—”

“You think one of us did it?” someone says, a face lost in the swimming crowd, and Jaehyun curses himself.

“No—” he lies _—lies_ —because he went to school. “But any one of you could have seen whoever did, and when the police get here you all need to be able to give a statement.”

“The police,” someone else says. “Aren’t you the police?”

“Yes,” Jaehyun says, hitting dial on his phone. “Can one of you call building security?”

All of them look blank—useless. Jaehyun glances around the crowd, searching for anyone. Chaeyoung should know the number. Chaeyoung was dating the victim. Chaeyoung who found the body. Chaeyoung who was in the room with Jaehyun for at least thirty or so minutes of questioning and couldn’t—Taeyong found the body—

Taeil’s ringback tone is some pop song that Jaehyun literally can never get out of his head for days afterwards, but this time Jaehyun doesn’t even care, impatiently tapping a foot as he waits for Taeil to pick up. The phone finally connects, Taeil answering sleepily. “Hello? Jaehyunnie? It’s late—”

“There’s been ano—a death—Hong Jaesung,” interrupts Jaehyun, at the last minute remembering it’s not good to announce anything unnecessary. “How soon can you be here? Call Johnny. Byoungjun-hyung—” Jaehyun’s prepared for this, policy rattling off of his tongue even as he hears Taeil getting out of bed with a rather distinctive rustling. By all means, Jaehyun shouldn’t be able to hear, but it’s like he’s running on adrenaline, and every sense is enhanced.

“Got it.” Taeil’s affirmative is to the point and without any nonsense. “I’ll call it in. I texted Youngho and Byoungjun-hyung and we’ll be there in twenty.” The call goes to dial tone before Jaehyun has finished lowering it away from his ear. He pockets it, making sure it’s not on silent. Then he faces the crowd once more, taking in the undercurrent of panic and fear and heightened fight or flight. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Right. Compartmentalize. Get the necessary shit done before the rest of the team gets here. “I need the room,” he starts with, looking for anyone who seems to be less panicked. “I need—”

He spots Chaeyoung, coming to stand at the back of the throng with Taejoon and Doyeon, and latches onto that like a lifeline.

“Chaeyoung,” he says, even though—fuck—fuck—she was _dating Jaesung_. “Chaeyoung.” He eyes Taejoon, who immediately grabs Chaeyoung by the arms as all the strength seems to go out of her with a wail. The other partygoers keep still, like cornered animals. “Chaeyoung, I’m sorry.” Jaehyun steps so that he’s blocking the view of the body and then keeps going, bodies parting so that he can reach her. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. But I need you to focus. This is your house, right?”

Chaeyoung’s eyes are wide and glassy with unshed tears, but Jaehyun only has to touch her on the arms before she seems to gain strength, pushing free of Taejoon’s support and looking at Jaehyun and seeming to actually see. “No,” she says. “But you’re right. It was as good as—”

“I need you to help me keep everyone calm,” he says. “This was your party—these are your friends—your—boyfriend.” Chaeyoung’s eyes shut briefly on the word “boyfriend” but Jaehyun keeps going, noting that Doyeon and Haruka have emerged and are part of the crowd too. “The police are on their way,” he says. “I’m sorry.” Jiyoo is there too now, putting a hand on Chaeyoung’s arm where Taejoon’s used to be and offering her silent strength, tears making her face wet with salt.

Jaehyun looks at Taejoon and Jiyoo. “Can one of you call building security? Or get me the number.”

Taejoon pulls his phone out. “I’m on it.” He steps aside, phone to the ear.

Jiyoo is still stroking Chaeyoung’s arm, her eyes kind. Chaeyoung sniffles at the contact, for a moment looking oh so very lost, and then something fierce comes into her eyes and she stands to her full height.

Jaehyun remembers briefly that she’s a lawyer—working for KMCA—and that she’s already seen death. He lets her go, waits to listen to her try to keep order, directing people to the couches and reiterating that no one can leave, and then turns.

He finds Taeyong standing there waiting. His eyes are wet too. His face is sickly pale, near green. The corner of his mouth is wet, but when Jaehyun too obviously stares, he shakes his head. “Jae—Hyung’s Ficus lives to see another day,” he says, in a tone that sounds absolutely decimated, and Jaehyun just wants to close his eyes and _cry_. “I called Changmin-hyung,” Taeyong adds after another pause. “He swore—he’ll be right up, but nobody will be leaving the building if he can help it, and you know as well as I do what that means.”

He’s saying things that are helpful and necessary and exactly what Jaehyun should want to hear, but Jaehyun can’t focus, because it’s Taeyong. Taeyong who found the body. Taeyong who once upon a time, was all Jaehyun ever wanted, and then some. Taeyong who found _both bodies_ , but Jaehyun can’t think about that. Not right now. Not if he wants to keep doing his fucking job.

He swallows.

He hears sirens.

He meets Taeyong’s eyes once more and turns. “You stay too,” he says as he goes, more a whisper than anything, but Taeyong takes it like he would a knife—an audible hiss of air between his teeth, something resembling the bastard child of a gasp and a sob, and words, breathed out so quietly that Jaehyun nearly misses them.

“You don’t think—I—” says Taeyong, like he can’t even bear to finish, and Jaehyun lets his stomach turn in knots for more than just having stumbled into another crime.

“You stay too,” Jaehyun says again, and goes back into the room with the body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! See you next week for the next chapter. Depending on the time of reveals, I might wait until I'm revealed to post chapter three XD.
> 
> Share this fic: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835)  
> Read the primer: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/royalau)


	3. Three

By the time Johnny, Taeil, and a harried-looking Jiwoo get there, Jaehyun has done enough preliminary investigating of the situation to be comfortable looping everyone in, including Kun, who goes straight to the body with his own people and starts gathering information. Building security consists of two burly men and one terrifying woman plus Changmin, who’ve all somehow managed to keep everyone in the apartment and calm. They’ve been helping Jaehyun do interviews, getting everyone’s stories straight, and trying to establish a timeline. He’d checked for any signs of a struggle on the body and canvassed the rest of the apartment, but concluded that the bathroom in question was positioned in something of a blind spot, and determined that if there’d been any sort of foul play, it likely happened there. That is assuming there was foul play. Jaehyun knows better than to make that assumption.

Taeyong has been left in the home office alone with Changmin standing guard and the doors kept open, and Taeil goes there first without even sparing Jaehyun more than a passing glance. It stings, but Taeyong hasn’t looked at Jaehyun once since Jaehyun told him to stay, so it’s probably best if Taeil does the initial questioning. Jaehyun busies himself doing other interviews and trying not to think too long and hard about how only hours prior, Hong Jaesung had been the life of this party and a welcoming, alive host.

The interviews go well, but take a while. Jaehyun and Johnny speak to an assortment of celebrity faces and then a few others who don’t give more than their names—Lee Jiyeon, Park Minchul, Kim Taehyun, the list goes on—and then look down their noses like Jaehyun and Johnny should know them. Johnny takes the lead on most of them, and Jaehyun handles all of Taeyong’s relatives while Johnny finds reasons to be very suddenly on the other side of the room—equivalent exchange. Jaehyun would find the entire situation funny if it wasn’t so grave. It doesn’t really help that Taeyong’s cousin Mark looks about two seconds from a nervous breakdown and Taeyong’s cousin Donghyuck keeps cracking double entendres, all at Mark’s expense.

Finally, Jaehyun sighs. “Look, Donghyuck-ssi,” he says.

“Haechan,” Donghyuck corrects, using the name one of the princes gave him, and what the papers—and his fans—tend to call him.

“Haechan,” Jaehyun amends, then feels ridiculous for having done so. “Donghyuck-ssi,” he says again. “I realize you find the entire situation hilarious”—Jaehyun waves a hand around in the air in a vague approximation between Johnny and poor Mark while Johnny runs out of things to do and practically does a one-eighty to get out of Mark’s line of vision—“but a man is dead. Your cousin is dead.”

Donghyuck’s expression abruptly sobers. “I know,” he says seriously. “And we want to do everything we can to help.”

Jaehyun nods. “Right so, to be clear, neither of you saw anything.”

“We only just got here,” Mark interjects, meeting Jaehyun’s eyes with sudden seriousness. He still looks skittish, but stubborn, and Jaehyun just wants to ruffle his hair. “Were you… at the party, Jaehyun-hyung?”

Jaehyun lets him get away with the insubordination. “I was undercover,” he offers, then bites his lip. “I came with Taeyong-hyung—”

Mark’s eyes widen.

“Anyway,” Jaehyun says, flipping his notebook closed and standing. “Thank you for your cooperation.” He bows to them both and retreats, not looking back once, and rejoins Johnny. “You owe me,” he says.

“I didn’t think he’d be here,” Johnny mutters. “They’re not close—Taemin’s his favorite member of that branch of the family.”

Jaehyun can’t help but stare.

Johnny flushes. “What?” he mutters. “Jaesung’s what, fifteenth in line? Taemin’s like fourteenth.”

What the fuck sort of shit are Johnny and Mark talking about on dates? “Eighteenth,” Jaehyun says slowly, consulting his notes to be sure. “Eunsung was seventeenth. _Taemin_ is _fifteenth_ —before their mother, Lee Junghee.”

Johnny tilts his head. “Weird,” he says. After a moment, he adds innocently, “What is Taeyong?”

It’s bait, and Jaehyun rises to it. “Twenty-second,” he says, instantly. “Why—”

“He’s got—what—one older sister? So, he’s after them,” says Johnny, doing the math. “ _Directly_ after them.”

Jaehyun flashes back to a conversation he had three years prior; Taeyong standing in the doorway of a coffee shop insisting he wanted nothing to do with the monarchy at all. “You’re not suggesting—”

“I’m just saying he found both bodies,” Johnny says. “It’s worth noting.”

“They were brothers,” Jaehyun counters. “More likely it’s something the two of them were wrapped up in. _And_ ,” he adds, as Taeil comes back from questioning Taeyong and joins them, with Kun. “We don’t even know that there was foul play.”

“I’m thinking there was foul play,” Kun says promptly, and Jaehyun glares, but Kun is unfazed. “There’s no blood, no head wound, nothing to suggest he fell—and that’s not counting how he was lying in the bathtub—on his back.” At their blank looks he sighs. “Look. Let’s say he was in there throwing up or something—the works.”

Jaehyun pulls a face but follows along regardless. “Okay—hey did you—” he starts to ask, but Kun just levels him an unimpressed look from under one raised brow.

“I’ll put a rush on the tox screen. I do know how to do my job.”

Jaehyun raises both hands and lets Kun continue.

“Logic says he’d be on his knees.” Kun pauses for effect. “And if he slipped and fell… he’d fall face first and land on his front.” Jaehyun has to concede that much. “Jaesung was found lying on his back. Combined with lack of external injuries…” Kun shrugs. “Of course, this is all speculation right now, but my gut is saying this wasn’t an accident.”

Jaehyun would have to agree with that assessment. “Okay,” he says. He looks at Taeil. “What did Taeyong say?”

Taeil exchanges an odd glance with Johnny before answering. “What he told you,” he says. “He went to the bathroom, didn’t notice anything odd when he got in there, did his business, and as he was washing his hands noticed that there was something in the bathtub—the curtain wasn’t all the way closed.” 

Jaehyun shuts his eyes.

“He opened the curtain, saw that it was Jaesung, realized he wasn’t breathing, and left to get you.”

“I was interviewing the suspects in Hong Eunsung’s murder,” Jaehyun explains, since no doubt Kun is probably confused. “Right, so—”

“He found both bodies,” Taeil says, coming to the same conclusion as Johnny. “It doesn’t look good.” For some reason he’s looking at Jaehyun apologetically, and Jaehyun’s skin itches.

“What?” he says.

“Nothing,” Taeil says.

“I’ve got the security tapes,” Jiwoo says, popping up beside all of them and nearly giving Jaehyun a heart attack. “There’s a few cameras in the hallway by the elevator and in the stairs, but nothing in the apartment—these people were not nearly as paranoid as I’d have expected, given their notoriety.” He glances around at them all, reads the room, and then pauses. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Jaehyun says. But when Jiwoo narrows his eyes, he feels compelled to add, “I mean the case, Jiwoo—could you warn a guy?”

“Sorry.” Jiwoo doesn’t seem very apologetic. “What about the case?”

Kun and Taeil give him the same spiel, and Jaehyun fights a yawn, looking over Johnny’s shoulder at where Taeyong and Changmin are standing by the door, talking with Mark and Donghyuck.

Johnny shoulders into him. “Hey,” he says. “You should go home.”

Jaehyun goes to protest, but Taeil pulls out of the conversation and takes Johnny’s side. “Youngho’s right—you look dead on your feet.”

“But I can stay,” Jaehyun says, watching Taeyong pause to hug Donghyuck and Mark goodbye. The two younger royals vanish out of the apartment with a pair of officers. “Help—” He breaks off on a yawn and goes to check his phone. It’s nearing one in the morning, and Jaehyun has to be at the office in six hours. 

“Jaehyun, we’ve got this,” Taeil insists. “You’ve done more than enough. Go home.”

Jaehyun sighs, but nods. “Let me at least give my own statement first—”

“Tomorrow,” Taeil insists. “You look _dead on your feet_.”

“I could forget something,” Jaehyun insists, stubborn to a fault. “I should do it now—”

“Jaehyun,” Taeil repeats. “You’ve been here for hours. Go home.”

At his side, Jiwoo gets an ugly look on his face. “Why was Jaehyun at the party anyway?” he starts to say, and Jaehyun decides that’s it.

“See you tomorrow,” he tells Taeil and Johnny, and walks right out of the conversation before he can hear what they decide to tell Jiwoo. Already he’s thinking about his bed, and how nice it’ll be to fall into it. But then he ends up in the elevator with Changmin and Taeyong, which is just enough of a wake-up call to leave Jaehyun permanently on edge.

“So,” Taeyong says, somewhere between floors forty and thirty-nine. “Am I a suspect?”

Jaehyun wishes he could just close his eyes. “I’m not at liberty to say,” he says.

“Which means yes,” Taeyong says. “Great. Awesome.” He glances at Changmin. “Isn’t that great, Hyung?”

Taeyong’s bodyguard doesn’t comment or even grunt, but Jaehyun feels the weight of his disappointment regardless. He feels like the elevator could not be moving slower. “Well, you were first on the scene _both times_ ,” mutters Jaehyun.

Taeyong doesn’t respond, and they ride the rest of the floors in terribly uncomfortable silence. Every so often Taeyong looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it; once in a while Jaehyun thinks _he_ should say something, but doesn’t; as the floors tick down, Taeyong grows more and more visibly agitated, which only serves to make Jaehyun feels worse for not speaking. Once the doors open Taeyong immediately gets out, striding angrily through the garage, dress shoes clacking against the concrete.

Jaehyun can’t help but follow. “Where are you going?”

“Home!” Taeyong’s voice is brittle and hard.

“Home to like… the pa—”

“Not home like the palace. I don’t live in the fucking _palace._ What kind of mindless sycophant do you take me for, Jaehyun-ah?” Taeyong turns to look at Jaehyun and he looks utterly furious—angry like Jaehyun hasn’t seen in three fucking years—and Jaehyun takes a step back.

“I just assumed because that’s where you made me come pick you up,” he says quickly, because he doesn’t know how to address anything else.

Taeyong’s ears are bright pink, but some of the fervor goes out of him. “Oh,” he says, now standing in the middle of the parking garage, pointedly not looking at Jaehyun. “I was—I had to go in for some other things and thought I’d visit my nephew.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “I lost track of time, if you must know.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

For a few seconds, they just stare at the air around each other. Changmin very kindly keeps scrolling on his phone. Finally, Taeyong speaks. “I have my own apartment now. I moved out last year.”

Jaehyun nods and bites the back to urge to say something awful like, “oh yeah, you’d talked about how you wanted to do that. You know, in between trying to have me as many times as possible in fucking Gyeongbokgung palace.”

“Yeah, I bought it the moment Noona had a boy and Dad stopped heckling me to be the better heir, but I didn’t move out until last year.”

This feels like an important moment, like a test, and Jaehyun doesn’t know how to ace it, let alone how to cheat. So it passes and Taeyong’s eyes go very cold.

“I could give you the address, but you’ll probably just get it anyway when you’re putting me under surveillance because you think I murdered my cousins,” he says.

Jaehyun doesn’t have an answer for that—not one he thinks Taeyong will want to hear, at least. Not without lying.

Taeyong’s lip curls up with barely disguised disgust. “God, fuck you, Jeong-hyungsanim,” he snarls, and then strides out of the aisle to get in his car. He closes the door with a slam, and then Changmin follows suit, closing the driver’s side door with much less anger. It’s not until they’ve driven away that Jaehyun remembers his own car is still at the fucking palace.

“Well, shit,” he says, and then goes back upstairs to beg a ride off of Kun.

* * *

Six hours later, Jaehyun arrives at the precinct bright and early to find Kun’s autopsy report already on his desk—the perks of the victim being royalty. Johnny and Jiwoo have been assigned to find whoever strangled Hong Jaesung to death. By now, news of the latest murder has spread and it’s headline-worthy information. Lee Junghee’s official statement is being shown on all of the televisions Jaehyun passes on his way through the subway that morning, in between advertisements for the new ceramics exhibit opening in two weeks, courtesy of Lee Donghae. Even the king has said something—assuring the public that the palace is working with local law enforcement and they are doing all in their power to find whoever has done this and bring them to justice. No one’s come out and said outright that the two cases are connected, but they don’t need to; the public is practically primed to make that inference, and Jaehyun overhears no shortage of whispered conspiracy theories on his walk from the subway to the precinct alone.

The Hong brothers were involved in something Jaehyun hears described only as “a sex accident.”

The Hong brothers were involved with _each other_.

The Hong brothers were assassinated as part of an elaborate coup instigated by the Japanese.

The Hong brothers were involved in all of the above.

Jaehyun can’t decide which lead is the more horrifying option—and the fact that his boss is going to make him run them all down simply because Korea is in the national news, well. Jaehyun doesn’t bring the office coffee, and no one stops him on his way to his desk.

Jaesung’s toxicology report has come back with the presence of alcohol but no drugs, and Kun has found irrefutable proof of strangulation as the cause of death. The petechial hemorrhaging is consistent with strangulation in a standard chokehold, and the hyoid is broken, making for a rather clear-cut case. Despite that, Kun finds no DNA under Jaesung’s fingernails. His estimated time of death puts the deed when Jaehyun was in the room interrogating his couch of suspects, but Kun can’t narrow it down far enough to say for sure if it was when Taeyong was present or not. This leaves Taeyong persona non grata, and Jaehyun tetchy.

He updates Taeil on Eunsung’s sordid love affairs, which doesn’t help his mood, and by the time he’s finished outlining how Jiyoo and Eunsung broke up because of differences in the bedroom but were still perfectly good friends, Johnny has abandoned his own workload and is very aggressively pretending to eat popcorn. Jaehyun picks up a pen and lobs it at him.

“Ow—hey—come on,” Johnny says, rubbing at the spot where Jaehyun hit him. There’s a glob of blue ink on his forehead now, and Jaehyun can’t help but be pleased.

“Don’t you have other things to be doing?” he says prettily, with a glance to make sure Taeil has finished updating relevant details on the computer.

“No,” Johnny says. Then, when Jaehyun raises an eyebrow, he continues, “Haven’t you heard? Our cases are most likely connected. Eunsung and Jaesung were in love.”

“Or in league with Japan, or involved in some sort of sex party,” Jaehyun says. “I thought you knew better than to listen to all that?”

Johnny looks at him with annoying sincerity. “Jaehyunnie,” he says. “We have to follow every single lead.”

“Jaesung was very happily with Chaeyoung,” says Jaehyun. “I don’t think we can even call that a lead.”

“That better not be you dismissing a lead, Jeong-hyungsanim,” calls Byoungjun-hyung, arriving among them all with a flurry of nervous hangers-on. One of those people is Jiwoo, and Jaehyun’s fingers twitch for more pens to throw. 

“Of course not, Team-jangnim,” he says.

“Good.” Byoungjun-hyung appraises the lot of them. “What have you got?” He’s addressing Taeil and Johnny, but Jiwoo still makes a point to smile at Jaehyun like he’s got something over him. Taeil and Johnny get Byoungjun-hyung up to speed. Jaehyun and Jiwoo have a staring contest. When all that’s done, Byoungjun-hyung steps back. “So you’ve got squat,” he determines.

Being the oldest, Taeil goes to protest.

Byoungjun-hyung raises one brow.

“Not for long,” Taeil says.

“Good,” says Byoungjun-hyung. “Get to it, then.”

They all go.

* * *

That Friday is Jaesung’s funeral, and Jaehyun and Taeil are no closer to having any viable leads. The media frenzy hasn’t died down at all, exacerbated by Dispatch’s decision to run an expose on poor Kita Haruka, who can’t even flee back to Tokyo because he’s still a person of interest, and now the spotlight is even more upon him. Jaehyun went by Gyeongbokgung on Thursday after the party to get his car from the visitor lot, but by then it was impossible to get close to the place without being set upon by reporters. Jaehyun decided he’d rather deal with public transportation for the foreseeable future and left one awkward voicemail asking Taeyong to have someone drive it back to his apartment. Taeyong called him right back, but Jaehyun let it go to voicemail and has been continuing to let him go to voicemail like a responsible adult.

Monday is Memorial Day, Tuesday turns up nothing useful, and then on Wednesday, Jiwoo somehow learns the details of the situation—Jaehyun used to date the prime suspect, and even went on a date with him to the party where the second victim was killed—and he immediately tells Byoungjun-hyung. And Byoungjun-hyung? He takes Jaehyun off the case.

He’s well within his rights—Jaehyun would have probably done the same, if he were in the man’s situation—but they’ve resorted to running down anyone who so much as breathed wrong in the direction of either Hong sibling, so it wasn’t like Jaehyun was actively harming the investigation by withholding. But still—he had dated the suspect. And gone with him on a date to the party where they found the second victim. It was in the name of finding the killer, but still.

“You’re dating the suspect?” says Byoungjun-hyung, standing in front of Jaehyun’s desk with both arms crossed across his chest. Jiwoo is a gleeful shadow over his shoulder, and Jaehyun entertains punching all his teeth out for a few seconds.

“Dated, past tense,” he says finally. “And we broke up in 2019—”

“And he’s your _prime_ suspect?” Byoungjun-hyung is addressing Taeil now, and Jaehyun’s superior gets awkwardly to both feet, glancing at Jaehyun. The whole time, Jaehyun thinks about calling in the cops who had the guts to give Hong Jaesung a parking ticket and fights the urge to ball his hands into fists.

“He found both of the bodies and he knew both of the victims?” Taeil says, more a question than a statement because Taeyong isn’t _really_ their prime suspect, he’s just the only connection they’ve got. Taeil shoots Jaehyun another sorry look. “And both victims were directly in the way of his line to the throne—”

“Not directly,” Jaehyun interjects, glaring at Johnny now, who hunches over his computer and tries to look smaller. Johnny. _Johnny_. “His nephew, sister, and father—”

“Not counting his immediate family,” Taeil continues, with another apologetic look cast in Jaehyun’s general direction. “But excluding that, they’re directly in front of him.”

Jaehyun grits his teeth.

“Were there other repeats at both parties?” asks Byoungjun-hyung, eyes flipping between Jaehyun and Taeil.

“Yes,” Jaehyun says, until Byoungjun-hyung halts him with a hand.

“Yes,” Taeil confirms. “But all five of them, not counting Taeyong, had alibis for Jaesung’s death—Jaehyun, actually.”

Jaehyun takes that for the hit that it is.

“Jaehyun,” says Byoungjun-hyung. “Jaehyun is their alibi.”

“I was at the party interviewing them as suspects for the Eunsung murder,” Jaehyun says. “I had a connection to the party, and I used it.” He’s done. He’s been outplayed. Jiwoo has walked him into a corner and Jaehyun has allowed him to.

“A connection,” says Byoungjun-hyung. “Because you dated the suspect—”

“He’s not—” Jaehyun starts to say, then cuts off at the sharp look _Johnny_ shoots him. “Yes,” he says stiffly. “In 2019, but yes.” He meets Byoungjun-hyung’s eyes.

Byoungjun-hyung stares right back. “You’re off the case,” he says. “Jiwoo?” Jiwoo stands to attention. “Johnny? Taeil? You think you can handle the slack?” They all nod. “Good.” Byoungjun-hyung looks at Jaehyun again. “Jeong,” he says quietly. “Go home and get some rest. You look like you need it.”

Jaehyun goes.

* * *

Being home sucks. Every time Jaehyun turns on the television someone is weighing in on the royal scandal. Every time Jaehyun goes online, someone is tweeting about the royal scandal. Even his family keeps texting him about the royal scandal, although with a little more tact on his mother’s part and absolutely zero on his grandmother’s—the woman is frighteningly all knowing and liked Taeyong a lot for never having met him.

Jaehyun ends up watching some idol survival show while scrolling through a particularly impassioned Twitter thread about the morality of people who write stories about the members of the royal family and post them online. Jaehyun hadn’t been aware that people wrote stories about the members of the royal family and posted them online, but they do, mostly on an American website dedicated to such things. Jaehyun stays at the top of the page and reads the words `Korean Monarchy RPF` no less than five times, before deciding to delete his browser history and bleach the phrase from his mind. Afterwards he hits the back button until he reaches the thread that started it all, which he sends to Taeil just in case.

Taeil texts back, `Jaehyun, while I’m very happy you’ve discovered the existence of fanfiction, I don’t think people fighting about whether or not it’s okay to write porn about the monarchy have anything to do with our case. This case. Fuck. Just. Take a nap or something. Yesterday was a long day.`

Jaehyun stares blankly down at his phone, not having been aware that the stories in question were _porn_ , but not stupid enough to go back and check. He’d seen Taeyong’s name once or twice. And Mark’s. Donghyuck’s. _Lee Sooman’s_. That way clearly lay _monsters_.

Then he does nap—intending to shut his eyes only for a little while—and wakes feeling the opposite of restful, having had horrible, half-remembered dreams. The television is still going and his phone has fallen down deep within his couch cushions. Jaehyun squints blankly at a show that seems to involve people attempting to make shapes with a partner to avoid falling into a shallow pool of water for three or four seconds, before he realizes that the thing that woke him wasn’t the nightmares, but rather the knocking on his door.

The knocking only gets louder the longer Jaehyun focuses on it, before finally abruptly stopping. Jaehyun stands. He wipes at the drool gathered at the corner of his mouth, and tries to straighten his work clothes. He very clearly looks like he spent the better half of the day passed out on his sofa, but whoever it is probably won’t care, so Jaehyun sighs and rummages through the couch to get his phone and check the time.

He’s slept for more than a little bit, it seems, since it’s well on the way to midnight. He’s missed dinner, the eight o’clock news, and three calls from Johnny around six p.m. that were probably invitations to frequent any number of their favorite restaurants. Jaehyun’s empty stomach bemoans the latter, and Jaehyun resigns himself to cold leftovers for the third night in a row. He rues the decision to let Sicheng move out, longing for the days when he had a roommate to make sure Jaehyun did the important things, like eat.

Taeil has texted him three more times, starting with, `Following pointless leads is a lot more fun with you, even if you do keep sighing over Taeyongie. At least you can read the room. If I have to listen to Jiwoo make one more pun about office supplies, I’m going to scream`, then transitioning to, `Off work, still got nothing, hope you’re actually sleeping and not dead`, and ending with, `Seriously, you’re not dead, right?`

Jaehyun sends back, `Am not dead`, and gets left on read, which is standard Taeil. He exhales and sets down the phone. Surely there’s something edible in his fridge?

The knocking resumes suddenly, loud enough this time that Jaehyun feels like the person is pounding directly on his brain, but whoever it is doesn’t seem concerned about upsetting Jaehyun’s neighbors. Which, Jaehyun can’t fucking have that, so he crosses the room in five strides, and hauls open the door. “What?” he barks, then freezes when he sees who it is.

Taeyong stares back at him, one hand still raised to knock. Thankfully, he puts it back down, because otherwise he’d have been likely to give Jaehyun a black eye, and that could only have worsened his image at this point. After a few more moments of awkward silence, Taeyong raises his hand again, holding what are clearly Jaehyun’s car keys. Jaehyun recognizes the Batman keychain, and the KNPU bottle opener. “You said get someone to drive it here,” Taeyong says finally. “You never specified it couldn’t be me.”

Jaehyun thinks about his shitty, sorry excuse for a car, then looks more closely at Taeyong’s obviously designer, perfectly-fitted clothes, and has the bizarre urge to start apologizing. He can’t remember when he last had enough free time to take the thing to a car wash, let alone vacuum the inside of it. Internally, he starts screaming. “You,” he says. “Drove my car.”

Taeyong gives the keys one last jangle in the air between them, nodding. “Mhmm.” His hair is styled off of his head again, so he must have been out doing something among the public, and the police officer in Jaehyun itches to ask what. He might not believe Taeyong has it in him to commit not one but two murders, but he still isn’t an idiot, and he knows the value of due diligence. Also, Taeyong’s hair is now bright, soft-drink _blue_ , and it’s distracting. He should look like a wannabe idol. He looks…

“What’s with your hair?” Jaehyun says desperately, his mouth picking up on the collision course his brain was heading for and uselessly interjecting with the first thing that comes to mind. “I mean”—Jaehyun swears internally, searching for a way to salvage the situation—“I didn’t think it would be appropriate for you to have colored hair. Idol hair.”

Taeyong looks up like he’ll somehow be able to see the top of his own head. “Oh, I’m not technically allowed,” he says. “That’s kind of the entire point.” He gives Jaehyun’s keys a twirl around his fingers and has the audacity to smirk. “Why, does it not look good? I thought it looked good. Changmin said it looked good.” God, he’s just—he should look like a dye job gone wrong, not a walking wet dream. How is it fair that he’s only gotten more attractive since Jaehyun saw him last and not only pulls off bright red hair, but also bright blue?

Almost angrily, Jaehyun reaches out and snatches his keys, chucking them blindly towards his coffee table without even looking. He must not miss—given the clatter that has to be them hitting the wood—and Taeyong’s smirk softens into something much more familiar. It makes Jaehyun’s chest _ache_ , because the walls falling down are far worse than them remaining insurmountably high.

“Are you ever bad at anything, Jeong-hyungsanim?” Taeyong says quietly, then sucks in a breath that is very clearly regretful.

 _Yes_ , Jaehyun thinks. _You_. “Thanks for bringing me my car,” he starts to say. “You can go—”

Taeyong steps forward, one foot entering Jaehyun’s apartment, and Jaehyun automatically backs up. “May I?” Taeyong says, already moving, and Jaehyun glowers particularly hard at Changmin, who emerges from the shadows and has the audacity to shrug his shoulders. Just for that, Jaehyun makes sure to slam the door directly in the man’s face, before whirling to face his unwanted house guest.

Taeyong has already lost his shoes. He’s standing in only his socks in the middle of Jaehyun’s living room, dressed in his designer finery, and he’s staring, judging Jaehyun’s apartment even though he has no right to. “Please tell me the apartment came with the furniture,” Taeyong says, once he catches Jaehyun looking. “That you didn’t buy all of _this_. Jaehyunnie, this is disappointing.”

Jaehyun doesn’t know if he should be angry on Sicheng’s behalf, or on Johnny’s—Johnny was the one with so-called style. He appointed himself their official interior designer and helped them pick out most of the stuff on a drunken visit to Ikea.

“No, you’re not intruding, please come in, Taeyong-ssi,” he says instead, with what he hopes is a snide smile. He may have only just woken from a ten-hour power nap on his sofa, but hell if he’s going to let Taeyong condescend to him in his own home.

Taeyong just stares back at him unfazed. “The couch is an interesting color,” he says, which is just… his hair is _bright, near-fluorescent blue_.

The couch is also the most comfortable thing Jaehyun’s ever had the opportunity to sit on, but he’s not so far gone that he’s going to say any of that—Taeyong would probably just take that as an invitation to sit on the couch himself, and Jaehyun cannot have that. Jaehyun needs to get him out of his apartment as soon as possible. “Why are you here, Taeyong-ssi?” he blurts finally, and—fuck—he definitely sounds panicked, instead of composed. “Thank you for bringing me my car, but you can leave—”

“You’re not going to ask where we parked it?” Taeyong says instead.

That’s a fair question. Jaehyun doesn’t pinch the bridge of his nose. “Where did you park it?”

Taeyong parrots back the address, and Jaehyun makes a mental note. It’s not that far from the apartment, Jaehyun’s car is shit, and he could use the walk the next morning—oh wait—he’s off the case. But surely that doesn’t mean Jaehyun is supposed to stay home for the rest of the week. Other crimes will happen. Non-royal crime won’t simply cease.

“Right, thanks,” Jaehyun tells Taeyong, shaking off his thoughts. “Thanks—” He breaks off when his stomach audibly growls and takes a moment to count pointlessly to three. Why Jaehyun?

“You didn’t eat dinner,” Taeyong determines, and Jaehyun takes a step towards him before he can help himself. How dare he judge him for this as well. After they—they’re not—

“Fuck you,” Jaehyun says, professionalism out the window. He crosses angrily to the door and pulls it open, ignoring Taeyong’s bodyguard, who he can see loitering further out in the hallway now. “Get out of my house—”

“You should change,” Taeyong says, not moving an inch. “I mean you look fine, but I’d change.”

Jaehyun should have just considered the car a lost cause and not even followed up about it. “What are you—look—Taeyong-ssi—just—get out of my house, _please_ —”

“You still like your food spicy, right?” Taeyong interrupts. “Seriously—change—but we’re getting dinner. Hyung.” Changmin only raises an eyebrow, but somehow still manages something approximating subordination. “You’re getting your wish—I’m hanging out with Jeong-hyungsanim—a police detective—surely that’s respectable enough for you.”

“You—I—my clothes are— ” Jaehyun glances down at himself and somehow does not wince. “Fuck you,” he ends up with.

* * *

Several minutes later, Jaehyun ends up seated across from Taeyong on a sofa in an establishment with an open bar that he’s refusing to acknowledge is actually one of the premiere clubs in the area. It’s dark, everything is glowing, and Jaehyun is wearing a wristband proclaiming him VIP—but it’s not a club, because Jaehyun’s already fragile emotional state can’t take it. He’s dressed well enough that he is preemptively rehearsing excuses for when Johnny and Taeil give him hell for this, because who dresses to impress when out with their ex?

Jaehyun, apparently.

Jaehyun who got roped into wearing his nicest jeans, that shirt Johnny says makes his chest look unfair, and a lot more jewelry than he usually wears, because Taeyong kept touching it. The only way to get him to stop touching it was to take it from him, and then, “oh, you’re right, Jaehyunnie, it would make your outfit better.” If it weren’t for the fact that Taeyong’s foot started tapping every time their hands nearly made contact overtop the sterling silver, Jaehyun would have said Taeyong was enjoying himself. Instead, Jaehyun’s ninety percent certain Taeyong is as messed up about the situation as Jaehyun is—he’s just faking it better.

Across the—the _establishment_ , Changmin has commandeered a drink and a spot at one of the bars, looking for all intents and purposes like just your regular patron. But Jaehyun notes he’s got a clear line of sight of all the exits and their sofa alike, and that their sofa—aside from being shockingly easy to commandeer close to midnight on a Wednesday—is itself optimally placed to watch the exits. Jaehyun’s not mad about either of those facts, although he does feel a little like he’s being patronized, especially when Changmin has the audacity to tip his glass in Jaehyun’s direction. Jaehyun glares down at his own drink, wondering what it is, and when he got it.

This is awkward. Jaehyun should break the ice. “Why are you dyeing your hair if you’re not allowed?” Jaehyun says, at the same time Taeyong clears his own throat.

“So, you’re off the case,” is what he says to interrupt their silence, before what Jaehyun has said seems to catch up with him. “Oh, well.” He reaches up to tug on his bright blue bangs, which seem even bluer in the lighting and have been garnering quite a few looks—particularly from a man two seats down from Changmin at the bar. In fact, Jaehyun would go so far to think Changmin had done that on purpose, now that he notices. “You know how it is,” Taeyong is saying. “Nothing pisses off strict parents like hair dye and tattoos.” At Jaehyun’s slow blink, he rolls up his sleeves to the elbow, then raises both arms so that Jaehyun can see. He’s got English print there, tiny marks against the pale underside of his forearms that say “UNDER” and “STAND.”

“Understand,” Jaehyun says in Korean, still blinking. “Why—”

“I got them in 2019,” Taeyong says. “October.”

Jaehyun fights the urge to start chewing on his lower lip. He and Taeyong broke up in October. He and Taeyong _fought_ , and words were said. Words about Taeyong not understanding. About how Jaehyun was more than just worried about what it meant now that the country realized they had more than just Sunny and all of her cousins—there were other branches of the royal family tree, and they were pretty and ripe for scandal. “Oh,” says Jaehyun.

Taeyong lets his arms down, but keeps his sleeves rolled up. “Yeah,” he says. “But I found out very quickly I’m not a sleeve sort of person, no matter how much Ten tried to convince me otherwise.” He grins, then sobers. “You remember Ten.”

“Yeah.” Jaehyun does remember Ten, though he didn’t meet him often. Ten and Taeyong were roommates their freshman year of college; Ten’s father is some bigshot in Thailand, and he and Taeyong connected on a spiritual level once he got over the whole prince thing. Jaehyun doesn’t know Ten all that well, but he’d buy him trying to convince Taeyong to get a tattoo sleeve.

“Anyway, I settled for hair dye—it’s not permanent, the colors, but I very much did have to bleach it, and Dad was very displeased.” Taeyong grins, his teeth glowing to match his hair, and Jaehyun just keeps nodding, not really listening. He realizes that this might be his and Taeyong’s first normal conversation—not counting anything at the party Taeyong’s cousin was killed at. Last they interacted before that—in October 2019—they were shouting and maybe (probably) crying. And now, well. The entire team thinks Taeyong may have killed his cousins. Although speaking of—

“How do you know I’m off the case?” Jaehyun blurts, interrupting Taeyong’s discussion about Ten’s own tattoos—he’s got a massive one on his arm, and then a chest piece, which he designed himself and he’s now trying to get Taeyong to let him design one for Taeyong; Jaehyun didn’t do four years at KNPU and then two years of post-graduate police work not to be able to multitask.

Taeyong’s mouth abruptly snaps shut and then he _blushes_.

Jaehyun… isn’t going to address how he feels about that fact. “H-hyung,” he says, with only a slight stutter once he realizes he’s been the one to drop formalities—although perhaps that was a lost cause the moment he let Taeyong walk into his apartment, or even first picked up the phone to call him all those days ago. (It’s only been two weeks since Taeyong walked back into Jaehyun’s life, how the fuck?) “How did you know I was off the case?”

Taeyong looks down, acting like he’s only just noticed the mostly empty table in front of them. “We haven’t ordered any food, have we?” he says, fiddling with the piece of paper around his left wrist nervously. “We should order food—we came here to get you food—”

“This is a club,” Jaehyun snaps, not in the mood for Taeyong’s nonsense. “It’s not a restaurant.” His stomach hadn’t been very happy about it, but his stomach had been protesting leaving the apartment with Taeyong during the entire drive to the club in question. “Hyung. _Taeyong-ssi_.”

Taeyong flinches, then briefly shuts his eyes. “I… called this morning,” he admits finally, voice very quiet. Jaehyun has to lean to hear him over the music, and he _hates_ how his heartbeat picks up the closer he gets to Taeyong. Taeyong smells good—familiar. He shouldn’t. It’s been three years and more than enough time. And—Kang Seulgi.

“You called,” Jaehyun says, somehow still managing to come across composed. “You _called_ —”

“I got this kid—Kim Jiwoo?—he seemed… confused.”

Jaehyun feels pressure start up behind his eyes. “What did you tell him?” he says. “Taeyong, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing!” Taeyong says. “Just—I was trying to get you your car, only he wanted to know why I had it to begin with, and I—I thought everyone in your office _knew_. That it was an official thing not—”

“It was an official thing,” Jaehyun snaps, ears burning despite himself. “Taeil-hyung signed off and everything—but Johnny and Jiwoo aren’t working Eunsung’s case.”

Taeyong’s eyes have gone round. “Oh—Jaehyunnie—I’m sorry—”

They both flinch at the familiarity, but somehow Taeyong recovers first, dropping his fingers away from his wristband when he realizes he’s close to taking it off.

Jaehyun realizes he’s gotten more worked up than he should have—that he’s gone and let his dismissal from the case get to him more than he should have—and does his best to calm down. “Taeil-hyung would have told Byoungjun-hyung anyway,” he mutters, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck with one hand. “You don’t—you don’t have to be sorry.”

Taeyong’s expression is still rather earnest, though a little subdued now. “Still,” he says. “I didn’t mean to get you taken off the case.”

Jaehyun sighs. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “Well.” He can’t help himself, and his lips quirk. “I mean unless you did—”

Taeyong’s eyes flash. “I didn’t kill my cousins,” he snaps, probably way too loud, even in the VIP section. Around them the other patrons are mostly having fun, but surely a few of them have to have heard.

Jaehyun leans forwards again, eyes gone wide. “Shh,” he hisses. “Shh—I know—”

Taeyong raises one perfectly defined brow. “Do you?” he says, still way too loud. “Because I would have thought you at least know me better than that.” He purses his mouth, then amends, “Knew.”

Jaehyun takes the correction like he’s been hit. “You found both of the bodies,” he says quietly. “And—they’re both in the way of your line to the throne.” He rushes the last sentence, hurrying to get it out there and over with. When he’s done, he reaches for the drink, taking a quick sip and noting that it’s good, whatever it is. Clearly Jaehyun’s not the only one who still knows things.

Taeyong’s expression has gone smug. “Ah hah,” he says, and actually points across the table at Jaehyun. “There. You don’t believe I did it either.”

Jaehyun’s having trouble following that logic, so he very pointedly sets back down the drink. “I didn’t say that—”

“Should you have told me that thing?” Taeyong asks over him, still sounding gleeful. “That thing about how Eunsung-hyung and Jaesung-hyung were both in the way of my line to the throne.”

He’s speaking too loudly again and Jaehyun winces because, no, he shouldn’t have. “Well, no—”

“So, then you don’t think I did it,” Taeyong repeats. “Otherwise you’d have been more careful.” He’s so fucking pretty when he’s satisfied, and Jaehyun hates it.

“Or you’re still an annoying bastard who knows exactly how to get under my skin,” Jaehyun snaps back, cheeks flushing. Part of him hopes Taeyong can’t tell because of the low lights. Part of him doesn’t. “I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

That finally seems to take the wind out of Taeyong’s sails and he visibly deflates, flopping back against the sofa and thinning his lips into a straight line. “Right,” he says. “My apologies, Jeong-hyungsanim.”

The formality hurts, and Jaehyun lets it show this time. “Hyung—” he starts to say and then his phone rings, further running the mood.

Taeyong stands, picking up his empty glass in explanation, and crosses to the bar before Jaehyun can stop him, turning heads as he goes. Jaehyun’s a police detective, so he can’t afford to let a call go to voicemail, but for two seconds, it’s all he can do not to follow him. He’s not the only one looking—the man two seats down from Changmin stands and moves closer the moment Taeyong reaches the bar. He sets an arm on the counter and shoots Taeyong an appreciatory onceover, and Jaehyun nearly bites off his own tongue; nearly lets the call go to voicemail.

One or two girls around him turn to glare at Jaehyun—like it’s Jaehyun’s fault Johnny apparently set his ringtone to “Can’t Forgive” from _Temptation of the Wife_ —and so Jaehyun hurries to pick it up, thumbing past Johnny’s contact name with a vow to get revenge. “Johnny-hyung,” he says, as Taeyong gives the man his full attention, very clearly not in the mood.

“Lee Taemin has been attacked,” Johnny says, before Jaehyun can say more. “Eunsung and Jaesung’s first cousin—nothing removed—”

Jaehyun refrains from pointing out that Taeyong and the Hong brothers are simply third cousins—the same generation, sharing a great-great grandparent.

“—but nobody had eyes on Taeyongie so until we know for sure, you’re still off the case—”

“I had eyes on Taeyong,” Jaehyun interjects, unable to stop himself. The man at the bar seems utterly undeterred despite Taeyong having been joined by Changmin, and Jaehyun is almost impressed—Changmin’s stares are _terrifying_. “Have eyes on Taeyong. Presently. At the moment. Um. When was he attacked? Lee Taemin?”

Johnny is worryingly silent for a long, long time. “Just now,” he says, then rattles off the name of a convenience store and an address—not one of the chains, but something Jaehyun wagers is run by a family. “A woman saw the whole thing—Cha Sungmi? She owns the shop.” Johnny confirms Jaehyun’s suspicions. “Apparently Taemin liked to come in all the time and buy snacks.”

Jaehyun parrots back the address. “Got it,” he says, nodding. “We”— he rips his gaze away from Taeyong and stands—“ _I’ll_ be right there.”

“I’m en route to the hospital with Byoungjun-hyung and Jiwoo,” Johnny says, very kindly not commenting on Jaehyun’s slip. “Taeil is at the scene.”

Jaehyun nods again. “Okay,” he says. “Johnny-hyung?”

Johnny makes a noise. “We’ve got to get this guy.”

“I’ll say.” Johnny hangs up, in time for Taeyong to return to the sofas with a new drink, sans man at the bar and bodyguard.

He takes one look at Jaehyun’s face and abandons his drink beside Jaehyun’s more-than-full glass. “What’s happened?”

“Your cousin,” Jaehyun says, automatically checking for his keys, and then cursing internally when he remembers he didn’t drive. He’s got his badge and his phone but _fuck_. “Taemin.”

Taeyong’s brow furrows. “Taemin-hyung—”

“He’s been in an accident,” Jaehyun explains, gnawing on his lip. “I don’t suppose—”

“Of course,” Taeyong interrupts, getting it instantly. “Hyung!” He doesn’t speak loud enough to be heard _at all_ , but Changmin appears at his side regardless. “We’re giving Jaehyunnie a ride.” Taeyong gestures, and Jaehyun provides the address, trying not to be affected by the use of his given name.

* * *

When they reach the crime scene, Jaehyun takes charge the moment Changmin’s car isn’t allowed past the police barricade. He’s out of the car and flashing his badge before he realizes that Taeyong has followed suit, and then he has to awkwardly try to convince poor Sooyeon-noona that Taeyong is with him and he totally intended—

“Hyung,” Jaehyun hisses, more than a little annoyed. He grabbed Taeyong by the hand when this altercation started and he’s really starting to regret that decision. “He’s with me,” he tells Sooyeon-noona again. “As a… consultant.”

Taeyong looks like he’d like to comment, but Jaehyun has no qualms about stomping on his foot to keep him from doing so.

Sooyeon-noona looks like she buys Jaehyun’s story zero percent but is ultimately too tired to put up a fuss. “Go through,” she says. “Moon-hyungsa is waiting for you.”

Jaehyun shoots her an appreciative smile and goes to haul Taeyong along, at the same time Changmin opens the door to the driver’s side. “Stay in the car!” Taeyong says, pointing, and when his bodyguard is tall enough to glare at them over the car, shrugs. “What? You really think I’m going to be in any danger absolutely _surrounded_ by Korea’s best and finest—” The emphasis he puts on the word “surrounded” makes Jaehyun want to wash his hands, so he just smiles some more at Sooyeon-noona before continuing on his way, Taeyong held tightly in his grip.

“What is wrong with you?” Jaehyun mutters, as they pass a group of Kun’s people gathered around a spot just off the curb, next to a telephone pole. “Are you drunk?”

“No.” Taeyong’s staring down at their still linked hands like he’s never seen a hand before, let alone held one. “I mean—I had one drink, Jaehyunnie.” Jaehyun flinches, and he corrects, “Jeong-hyungsa.”

Jaehyun doesn’t have words for how vastly inappropriate it is for him to explain why he knows intimately just how much of a lightweight Taeyong is.

“I’m not drunk,” Taeyong continues, staring straight ahead now with his mouth a stubborn line. “I’m not,” he insists, when Jaehyun can only stare. “I just—it’s Taemin-hyung.”

Jaehyun looks back towards the torn-up bit of sidewalk and blood-lined pavement with the tiny exhibit markers, and swallows. “Oh, Hyung—”

Taeyong is pointedly facing forward. “Taemin-hyung is my—was my—”

“Is,” Jaehyun corrects immediately, horrified to not have clarified—to not have said—

Taeyong’s fingers tighten on Jaehyun’s own, and when Jaehyun looks, he smiles. “Taemin-hyung is my favorite cousin, not counting Mark,” he says finally. “So, he’s okay?”

“He’s—”

“There you are—Jaehyun-ah!” Taeil interrupts them, coming into view and immediately grabbing for Jaehyun so he can tug him where he’s needed. “That was faster than I thought. Did you get your car back?” he says, not leaving time for Jaehyun to answer. “Anyway, I’m almost done interviewing the witness but could really use your…”

Taeil finally seems to realize they have a guest. His eyes track down Jaehyun’s arm to the wristband from the not-club, then flit to Taeyong, who lifts his hand and actually waves.

Taeil lets go of Jaehyun as if burned, halting them all. “What is he doing here?” he says.

Jaehyun is so fucking screwed.

“Don’t answer that,” Taeil says, pulling open the door to the convenience store and leading both of them in. “I need your dimples.”

Jaehyun pauses where he’d been trying to extricate his hand from Taeyong’s to no avail. “My dimples?”

“Yep.” Taeil stops them in front of an older woman, standing behind the register with an officer in uniform and holding a blanket, and very animatedly trying to give it back to the poor man. “Noona! My colleague is here to take your statement now!”

Jaehyun is horrified. “You didn’t take her statement?” he hisses out of the side of his mouth.

“I did, but I need you to get it too,” Taeil hisses back, before releasing Jaehyun—and Taeyong, at least—and thrusting him at the woman.

“Oh, hello,” says the woman. “Nice to meet you.”

Jaehyun cannot _believe_ Taeil.

“Hi,” Taeyong says after a moment’s pause. He glances at Jaehyun as he does it, clearly trying to convey the words “what the fuck?” and “are you going to do your job?”

“Are you friends with the nice young man?” says the woman. She sniffles, then reaches up to blow her nose loudly on the blanket. Jaehyun understands why the officer wanted nothing to do with it. “Oh, it was just awful, the accident. But the detective said he was going to be okay. The tall one, with the nice hair,” she adds, in an undertone that isn’t an undertone after all. “Not the short one, who could use a haircut.”

Jaehyun has to work very hard to stifle a laugh, especially when he catches sight of Taeil out of the corner of his eye. “I see,” he says, finally getting his hand back from Taeyong. “I mean, no. I’m with the police.” He gets out his badge, handing it over so she can see. “Could you tell me a little bit about what happened…” He waits for her to give her name.

“Sungmi,” she says. “Cha Sungmi.”

“Sungmi-ssi,” Jaehyun says. He tries to convey with eye contact alone that Taeyong should go and rejoin Taeil, but when it doesn’t work, puts on his winning, professional smile. This is Jaehyun’s _job_. He can’t have time for anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all knew this was me, right? 🤣 See you all next week! And yes, 🦄 is Aixing, my expert on all things crime.
> 
> Share this fic: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835)  
> Read the primer: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/royalau)


	4. Four

Per Sungmi’s statement: Taemin was walking along the sidewalk on his way to Sungmi’s convenience store when a car came out of nowhere and tried to run him over. Sungmi saw the entire thing from her place behind the cash register and rushed out screaming, but whoever it was saw the writing on the wall and raced away. She didn’t get a plate, but the store has security, and Jaehyun’s sure there would have been enough footage from traffic cams even without it. She didn’t get a look at the driver either, but she was too busy being worried for Taemin—the nice young man. The driver must have spoken to Taemin, because when Sungmi got to him he was babbling on about how he wasn’t “worthy” and “didn’t have a crown anyway,” but Sungmi was too far away to hear anything else. Jaehyun writes that last bit down with a frown, thinking about the line of succession. Lee Taemin is closer to the throne than either of the Hong siblings had been, given his father is Lee Junghee’s older brother. But the killer is decidedly not Taeyong… so why do they want him on the throne? (Or his sister or father, Jaehyun supposes. They can’t rule that out.)

“Is there anything else you can tell me?” Jaehyun asks Sungmi.

Sungmi just wipes at her nose with the blanket and shakes her head.

Jaehyun ends up leaving her with a surprisingly talkative Taeyong before going back to join Taeil.

“Traffic cams?” he says, when he gets there. “She didn’t tell you a plate number?”

“Already on it,” Taeil says, one eye still on Taeyong and Sungmi. “And no—maybe a chieut—but we’re checking cams, putting an alert out on the car.” Sungmi had been able to describe the color and shape of the car as silver and compact, but that was about it—and it was dark. “Johnny called,” adds Taeil, finally meeting Jaehyun’s eyes fully. “He said Taemin is in surgery now. It doesn’t look good.”

Jaehyun winces. He remembers Taemin. He was tall, thin, and pretty, with a great smile. He could have been a model if he wasn’t more interested in dance, and had spent more than a few semesters at an elite school in America. Taemin seemed nice when Jaehyun met him. Jaehyun imagines Taemin going up against a car and swallows back bile. “Fuck,” he swears.

“Yeah,” Taeil says.

Across the way, Taeyong finally manages to make Sungmi laugh, but he’s only got eyes for Jaehyun when she’s distracted enough not to notice. His hair is starting to wilt, falling prettily across his brows and he smiles with his entire face, practically sparkling—Jaehyun looks away, to save himself. “So—”

Taeil reaches out to poke his pen through the wristband around Jaehyun’s wrist, nudging it and stopping Jaehyun mid-sentence. If that wasn’t damning enough, he glances rather pointedly at where Taeyong is very clearly wearing his own. “Are we still not talking about this?” he says, and Jaehyun glowers. “No? Awesome, Jaehyunnie, that’s real healthy—”

“Hyung,” Jaehyun growls.

Taeil sighs but lets the subject drop. “You know what this means?” he says instead.

Jaehyun’s stomach ties itself in knots regardless. “What?”

Taeil waits a long while before answering, to the point where Jaehyun turns, relieved to note that for once, Taeil isn’t just watching Jaehyun watch Taeyong.

“Hyung,” he says.

Taeil finally looks at him. “You were right,” he says.

Jaehyun blinks. “About it not being Taeyong, or about it being it about succession? Because I was actually right about both of those things—”

“You’re clearly running on very limited hours of sleep and all sorts of poor decisions.” Taeil reaches out and grabs Jaehyun’s right wrist, holding it up so that he can shake the wristband down as far as it’ll go on his arm. “Therefore, I’m willing to let you get away with being an insubordinate asshole”—Jaehyun winces, kind of feeling bad—“But no, I meant about the line of succession.”

Taeil lets go of his hand, and Jaehyun lets it drop back to his side. He feels grateful it’s just Taeil present, because who knows what sort of shit Jiwoo would have said if he’d been here? “Sorry,” Jaehyun says. “What about it, though? The line of succession?”

Taeyong says something that makes Sungmi _laugh_ , reaching out with both hands to actually pinch him on both cheeks, and the woman had been so honestly torn up about having witnessed Taemin’s attack that Jaehyun can’t help but smile to see it. It doesn’t help that Taeyong remains so very pretty, with bright blue hair and club clothes.

“‘I am not worthy. I don’t have a crown’,” Taeil quotes Taemin, and Jaehyun is reminded he missed so much of the crime scene. “Whoever it is will be after Lee Donghae next,” Taeil says. “Or his brother. What? I pay attention.”

Jaehyun would bet Taeil only paid attention to the news coverage of Lee Donghae’s wedding or perhaps the all the press about the upcoming art exhibit he donated, but he refrains from commenting. “Yeah,” he says instead. “Yeah, shit, damn.”

They’ll have to coordinate with palace security even more than they already have been, and there’s no way the press won’t have a field day with another attack on a royal—one resulting in hospitalization on top of it all. Jaehyun can’t even _imagine_ the number of flowers people are going to be sending to Taemin’s hospital room.

“You think they’ll go for a full lockdown?”

Jaehyun knows Lee Donghae is in the country because his exhibit is opening to the public next Thursday, but Lee Donghwa flew out of Korea last week and is currently vacationing in the south of France. He and his wife attended the French Open. Jaehyun came across the photos when researching for the Eunsung case.

“I expect,” says Taeil, for some reason not sounding very enthused.

Jaehyun understands the severity of the situation given that Taemin is now in the hospital and fighting for his life, but they finally have _something_ which is more than they’d had prior. He’d have thought Taeil would at least be happy about that. But Taeil keeps frowning, and Jaehyun stares at him. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing—just—”

Before Taeil can finish, Taeyong appears back at Jaehyun’s side with a smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. He’s got a bag in his hand, laden with an assortment of snacks, and he’s left Sungmi back behind the cashier with the uniformed officer. “Hey,” he says. “She’s nice.” He must pick up on some of the leftover confusion on Jaehyun’s face because he tilts his head to the side. “What is it?” His bangs flop into his eyes, and he reaches up with his free hand to push them off his forehead, giving Jaehyun an unhindered view of his beautifully defined eyebrows.

“We think whoever is doing this is following the line of succession,” Jaehyun blurts out desperately, and gets stabbed in the side by Taeil’s bony elbow.

Taeyong just blinks back at Jaehyun a few times. “Okay, but you’ve already said that,” he says, lowering his arm. Then, in a move that Jaehyun convinces himself is _not at all attractive_ , flushes to his hairline while adding, “I mean, thank you for letting me know, Jeong-hyungsanim!”

The look Taeil shoots Jaehyun could peel paint off the entire precinct. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you for letting him know, Jeong-hyungsanim.”

Jaehyun winces.

“Anyway, do you need a ride home, Taeyong-ssi?” Taeil’s practically radiating sunshine in his attempts to seem unbothered. “I’m sure we can get you one—”

“Um, actually, I have a ride,” says Taeyong. “We drove over together. Jaehyunnie’s the one without a ride. Jaehyun. Jeong-hyungsanim.”

“I see,” says Taeil.

Jaehyun stares very straight ahead, horrified. “You’ll give me a ride, right?” he asks Taeil in a parody of a question. “Thanks. Taeyong-ssi—if that’ll be all—”

“I could drop you at your place,” offers Taeyong anyway.

Jaehyun ignores him and keeps looking pointedly at Taeil. His friend looks between the two of them for a long awkward moment, then sighs. “Sure. I’ll give you a ride. Thank you so much for your time—”

Taeyong’s cheeks are a little pink, but he holds his head high. “Of course,” he says. “You’ll keep me posted—Taemin is family, after all.”

 _Good breeding_ , Jaehyun thinks, and is not even attracted to him at all. He watches until Taeyong has safely disappeared behind the police line and reconvened with Changmin. Then he looks back at Taeil, refusing to be cowed. “What?” he says finally, after nearly a full minute of staring.

Taeil reaches out and grabs him by the hand, shaking the club bracelet around for good measure.

“Oh, right,” Jaehyun says, immediately changing the subject. “Are we going?” He puts his hand pointedly behind his back.

Taeil continues to look judgmental, but he drives Jaehyun home without too much commentary.

* * *

Prince Lee Donghae agrees to three days of hiding out in a safe house at an undisclosed location that Jaehyun has no doubt probably could encompass his apartment two times over, but he draws the line at not attending the VIP Exhibition Opening for his donated exhibit. The pieces had belonged to his father and the late king, his grandfather, before him, and the exhibition has been in the works for nearly five years. Donghae insists, and no one can convince him otherwise.

Jaehyun finds out the day of, on his way to his desk bearing coffee. Byoungjun-hyung comes by swearing into his cell phone, raises his own mug with something approximating a smile at Jaehyun, and then continues—swearing some more.

“Prince Donghae is refusing a police protective detail for the exhibition party,” explains Taeil, when Jaehyun reaches their row and sets down his mug with a confused head tilt. “He says he’ll be fine with just palace security—and that things have been quiet since Taemin was attacked.”

He’s not technically wrong. Taemin is currently headline news, locked up in one of the fancy hotels in a coma and garnering sympathy and bouquets from most of the country, but other than that, not much else has happened. Traffic cam footage got them enough to ID the vehicle, but it was stolen, and showed up early Thursday morning with absolutely zero evidence; in fact the thing was so terrifyingly wiped down that even the owner seemed shocked at the newfound cleanliness. Kun’s been over the thing and then some, Jaehyun and Taeil have been over the list of people in attendance at Eunsung’s party ad nauseum, and they have _nothing_ to show for it. It’s been an awful couple of days, even with the entire precinct running to a royal schedule. 

Aside from Donghae, Lee Donghwa has been told to stay in France, Andy Lee and his sister have been told to stay in the U.S., and the princesses are more protected than anyone else in the country. Park Chanyeol and Park Yoora are both under surveillance and lockdown, though to a lesser extent than Donghae. Lee Sooman has his own security _team_. Taeyong’s father is out of the country, Taemin’s father and older brother are also out of the country, and Lee Junghee seems to have been passed over for reasons completely unknown. Jaehyun’s gut says that’s probably due to the more archaic rules about succession. Korea only adapted absolute primogeniture later in its history, after all.

But that’s assuming the motive even _is_ about the line of succession, and technically, they don’t know that either. Jaehyun’s pretty sure it is, since nothing else makes sense, but aside from a few things that Taemin mumbled on his way to the hospital and the fact that everyone attacked has been directly in Taeyong’s way to becoming king, they have zero proof. They interviewed Taeyong and a string of his acquaintances in the hopes that they might illuminate _something_ , but that was a dead end too. Taeyong says he has no idea why anyone would want him on the throne—not that Jaehyun’s spoken to him. Taeil and Byoungjun-hyung handled that interview and Jaehyun wasn’t even allowed to be in the building when it was happening.

The most exciting thing that’s happened in the four days since Taemin’s accident was when Kang Seulgi from Red Velvet came to give a statement on Taeyong’s behalf, and Jaehyun spent twenty minutes staring furiously at his reflection in the bathroom, trying to pretend he wasn’t at all affected by seeing her in the flesh.

Still, Jaehyun hadn’t expected that Donghae would go ahead with the party. Or refuse the extra security. There haven’t been any threats or attempts on anyone’s life, but given the circumstances… he’d have thought there was no such thing as too careful. He opens his mouth. “And Byoungjun—”

“Byoungjun-hyung is _mad_ ,” says Johnny, swiveling around in his chair to face Jaehyun. “He’ll pull strings and get us an invite to the thing anyway, but he’s still upset.”

Taeil snorts. “Not that you need an invite,” he says—not unkindly, but pointedly regardless.

Jaehyun blinks. “Mark’s going?” he says.

Johnny’s neck is a little pink, but he’s perfectly composed when he speaks. “The collection belonged to his family,” he says. “I think most of the family is going.”

“That sounds like a security nightmare,” Jaehyun says.

“Yeah,” agrees Johnny. “Hence—” He gestures in the direction Byoungjun-hyung stormed away.

None of them mention the elephant in the room, and for that, Jaehyun is thankful. He hasn’t spoken to Taeyong since Taemin’s attack, but he knows Taeyong’s visited Taemin more than once in the hospital from the paparazzi photos.

“I don’t suppose…” says Taeil, trailing off before he can complete the question. So much for not mentioning it.

Jaehyun is already shaking his head. “No,” he says. “First of all, I’m sure Byoungjun-hyung will be able to work something out without me meddling. Second of all—he’d never let me—”

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” says Byoungjun-hyung, striding back into view with his phone held in one hand and his coffee in the other. He takes a sip, swallowing what has to be a burning mouthful, and then looks around at all of them with his eyes narrowed.

Taeil’s the one who speaks, seniority lending him bravery. “Good news first?” he says.

“The good news is I know someone on the board of the museum,” says Byoungjun-hyung, after only a mild pause. “And she owes me a favor. The bad news? On good days she only mildly hates my guts.”

Jaehyun winces.

“She’ll probably only let me get one of you in,” Byoungjun-hyung adds, in time for Jiwoo to appear out of nowhere in a wash of choking cologne. Jaehyun fights the urge to cough. “That’ll be Taeil,” finishes Byoungjun-hyung.

Taeil stands taller, nodding.

“Youngho’s got an invite as well,” Byoungjun-hyung says, looking at Johnny, who somehow manages not to hunch over in embarrassment, and only nods. “But Jaehyun.” Byoungjun-hyung gives Jaehyun his full attention, and Jaehyun feels his shoulders stiffen as he tries not to cower too obviously.

It’s been business as usual since Taeyong was officially cleared as a suspect, but Jaehyun still feels like every wrong move could end with him getting sent home once again—that leave of absence turning into him being out of a job, and Jiwoo settling into his desk and caseload with the last laugh.

Byoungjun-hyung has been looking at Jaehyun for a long, long time—so long that Jaehyun starts panicking. “Do you still have that connection?” their team leader says finally.

Jaehyun can only stare back, but somehow, he nods.

“Do you still feel comfortable using that connection?” continues Byoungjun-hyung. He’s definitely talking around the issue, and Jaehyun doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. He nods again. “Good,” says Byoungjun-hyung. “Do that.” With one last look across all of their faces, he pivots and vanishes back towards his office, no doubt to call in that favor with the woman he knows on the museum board.

Jaehyun remains standing, trying to figure out if he really does feel comfortable using that connection. Jiwoo has a sour look on his face like he’s going to say something, but a sharp look from Taeil has him wisely staying silent and taking a seat at his own desk.

Taeil gives Jaehyun his full attention after that. “You’re sure about this—”

“Yes,” says Jaehyun. “I’m not going to tell Byoungjun-hyung _no_ —”

“He might not even be going,” Taeil interrupts before he can continue, smiling brightly and clapping a bracing hand onto Jaehyun’s shoulder. Then he ruins the effect by adding, “fighting,” like Jaehyun’s gearing up for a daunting task. He kind of is, but he shoots Taeil an annoyed look anyway. Then he goes to make the call—right at his desk this time.

Taeyong still doesn’t have a ring back tone.

He still picks up after only the second ring.

He still sounds hesitant, answering the call.

“Jeong-hyungsanim,” he says.

“Taeyong-ssi,” Jaehyun manages to say. He should have left his desk. “I—about tonight’s party. Are you going?”

Taeyong is silent for two seconds. “To Donghae-hyung’s opening? Yes,” he says. “Why?”

How was it Jaehyun put this all those days ago, back before Jaesung was killed, and Taemin was in the hospital? “Any chance you could get me in?”

Taeyong is quiet again for another long moment.

Jaehyun debates the merits of hanging up the phone. This was a stupid plan and Jaehyun was stupid for agreeing to it and moreover, Jaehyun has been worried, lately, because whoever was killing the royal family clearly wants to put _Taeyong_ on the throne and every single one of Jaehyun’s instincts have been _screaming_ that they shouldn’t be involving Taeyong _at all_ for his own _safety_ —

“Well,” Taeyong says. “I actually, uh, already have a date.”

There’s resounding silence, which goes on for so long that Taeil starts rolling his chair across the floor towards Jaehyun, and Jaehyun has to frantically wave him off. Taeyong is still speaking.

“—not a real—it’s just Doyoung”—Jaehyun places Taeyong’s friend and son of the darling of Korean cinema, but last he’d thought Kim Doyoung was dating—“so it’s not really a date, since Jungwoo”—Taeyong’s cousin, Kim Jungwoo—“but—fuck,” Taeyong says. “I’m really sorry.”

“I see,” says Jaehyun. “Thanks anyway.” Taeil has rolled all the way over, and Jaehyun gives up on getting him to go back to the other side of Johnny, who has the gall to shift over so Taeil can better lean in and eavesdrop.

“I don’t have to take Doyoung,” says Taeyong, like he’s doing Jaehyun some sort of great charity, and Jaehyun feels a muscle start twitching in his jaw. “I mean—if it would help your investigation.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jaehyun says. “I don’t need your help getting an invite.”

Clearly that’s news to all involved because the next few seconds pass in stilted silence.

“Really?” Taeyong says finally and he sounds _dubious_.

Jaehyun could just strangle him. “Really,” he confirms, frantically reviewing his mental rolodex for anyone he could bribe into taking him to the opening and coming up woefully blank. Jaehyun knows very few people likely to be on that guest list—and the ones he does, he lost contact with in 2019. “Don’t hurt yourself on _my_ behalf.”

Taeyong makes an odd noise—almost a squeak—and then clears his throat. “Um, so I guess I’ll see you there, then,” he says. “Jeong-hyungsanim.” There’s uncomfortable, terrible silence, and Jaehyun fights the urge to shut his eyes.

“Jaehyun,” he says finally, ignoring the way Johnny is staring at him alongside Taeil now, both of them looking serious. “It’s—it’s just Jaehyun.”

“Jaehyun,” repeats Taeyong, after more silence. “Then it’s just Taeyong.”

Jaehyun smiles, and somehow it doesn’t hurt. “I’ll see you tonight, Taeyong-hyung,” he says, then hangs up the phone and stares straight ahead at nothing for two seconds. Then he turns brightly towards Johnny and Taeil. “So, it’s good you’re both going—”

“Who are you going to ask to get an invite to the party?” interrupts Taeil, staring at Jaehyun impassively. “We’re ignoring that name bit because we love you”—Johnny reaches out a hand to fucking high five Taeil and Jaehyun could just scream—“but surely you don’t know anyone else who’s going. Besides Mark.” Taeil squints at him. “You’re not going to ask Mark, are you?” He looks at Johnny now. “You’re too pretty to third wheel, Jeong.”

“I’m not asking Mark,” Jaehyun snaps, standing and grabbing hold of the back of Taeil’s chair. “I’ve got plenty of other celebrity friends—”

Taeil puts up a limited fight when Jaehyun starts rolling him back to his desk. “It’s a royal party, Jaehyun,” he says. “You’ll need more than just celebrity friends—”

“Hyung, I got this,” Jaehyun says, scrolling the mental rolodex once more and finally hitting on an option—shorter than him with a wit to rival Taeil’s, and having had absolutely no issue continuing to text Jaehyun once he’d broken up with the only reason they’d become friends. Sure, they haven’t really socialized since—mostly just exchanged movie recs and talked shit about sports teams—but Jaehyun is out of options. “I promise. It’ll be fine.”

Taeil stares up at him with one eyebrow raised. “If you say so,” he says.

* * *

Jaehyun is literally never going to live this down. He’s wearing a tux—a feat which involved calling home to his mother and cashing in more than a few favors with Johnny—has put product in his hair, and is currently standing five paces away from Prince Lee Donghae, pretending to listen to a discussion about Korean celadons. Jaehyun’s date for the evening is wearing a tux as well, although his is significantly less off the rack, and significantly more tailored to fit him like a glove. He’s grown his hair out since Jaehyun saw him last, gone back to being a natural brunet, and seems perfectly at ease with the fact that not five hours prior, Jaehyun was frantically texting him about needing to attend this party while simultaneously apologizing for not having taken time out of his busy life to see the man. No—Nakamoto Yuta is utterly unfazed, and Jaehyun regrets his entire existence.

But Jaehyun is also _at the party_ , only _five paces_ from Lee Donghae, so he can’t be too upset. He could be Taeil, standing over in a corner with Byoungjun-hyung, dressed up as staff from the restaurant catering the event and in charge of waiting hand and foot on all the museum importants and royals alike. Aside from Lee Donghae and his husband, Jaehyun picks out Mark, Mark’s cousin Donghyuck, and the second youngest of the princesses, Lee Jinkyu. She’s dressed in a stunning shade of baby pink, making Jaehyun think of cherry blossoms and spring. It’s an odd color for summer, but it works, and she’d have been stunning even if it hadn’t. Most of the attention is on her, as well as the museum curator, a loud, cheerful man who keeps nudging Donghae’s husband Hyukjae in between all his jokes.

Jaehyun makes note of all these things from his place on Yuta’s arm, and tries not to think too hard about how Taeyong isn’t even here. He shouldn’t be mad about that—or miss him. He’s here to keep an eye on Donghae, that’s all. But it certainly doesn’t help that Taeyong’s sister is here, with her husband, and that she’d made a huge deal of saying hello to Jaehyun when he and Yuta arrived. She’d been happy to see Yuta too, but Jaehyun still felt dissected, and still does, even with the woman all the way on the other side of the room talking seriously with the princess.

“Jaehyunnie,” says Yuta, dragging Jaehyun’s attention away from the room and all the guests. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said.”

Jaehyun hasn’t, but he feels bad about it anyway, immediately turning to give Yuta as much of his attention as he can risk. He still keeps an eye on Donghae, he still makes a note of the number of exits and who’s within walking distance from the man, but he also looks at Yuta, and smiles. “Sorry, hyung—”

“Oppa,” Yuta corrects, with a grin. “And don’t worry about it. I get you’re doing your job.”

Jaehyun shakes his head, bemused, because Yuta picked up their old game of improper honorifics the moment Jaehyun got his shit together enough to finally call him, seemingly unbothered by the distance and lack of face-to-face. Yuta hadn’t even needed to pull strings, having already gotten an invitation to the opening himself. Nor had he seemed interested in why Jaehyun was asking him—Taeyong’s name didn’t come up once. He’d asked about Mark, inquired about Johnny, and seemed pleased to hear that Taeil was probably a shoo-in for the team leader track. It had been almost too easy, and it certainly feels easy now, and Jaehyun starts to finally relax. “I’m still being rude,” he starts to say, at the same time Yuta continues.

“You know it’s funny, though, that you asked me to get you an invite to this thing,” the man says. “I mean just because Taeyongie—”

Jaehyun feels nervous laughter start in the pit of his stomach but somehow, he doesn’t end up giggling like a madman. “I’m glad you were able to get me an invite, Hyung, I love—uh—gourds,” he says, probably too loudly, and Johnny shoots a look in his direction.

Jaehyun smiles right back at his friend, who’s gotten stuck listening to one of the older invitees discuss the significance of motifs on all of the tableware, and the use of sanggam to inlay the images onto the Goryeo era celadons—information Jaehyun only escaped hearing because he was with Yuta, who already knew it, and because he’d frantically prepared via Naver search beforehand. Mark’s directly at Johnny’s side, and he ducks his head apologetically the moment he and Jaehyun meet eyes, which… Jaehyun tells himself that’s fine, and he’s not bothered.

“Gourds,” says Yuta finally, once Jaehyun has finished feeling sorry for himself and has returned to giving him some semblance of his full attention.

“Gourds,” Jaehyun affirms, making a note of how many people follow when Donghae walks across the main exhibition hall to inspect a set of tea bowls, probably belonging to one of the former queens or princesses. “So—”

He doesn’t finish, whatever he’d have said to try to salvage the conversation getting lost in the commotion of people arriving—Taeyong, Doyoung, Ten, and someone new—tall, pretty, and laughing uproariously the entire time it takes for them to finish entering the gallery. Jaehyun starts to wish he’d taken Taeil up on the offer of wine from before they’d all been let in to see the art. There was no way he could have said yes—he’s working—but he could probably wave someone else over and get a glass now. That would involve drawing more attention to himself, though, and Jaehyun can’t risk it. It’s hard enough watching other people turn to watch Taeyong and his friends.

Taeyong’s kept his hair blond for the event, which honestly shocks Jaehyun, since there’s plenty of press and opportunity for photographs, and he would have thought Taeyong would jump at the chance to be in the news with bright green hair, or something. It’d have been the perfect fuck you to his father, but then, maybe also to Donghae, so. Maybe it makes sense that Taeyong’s shown up in a tux with blond hair, but it still makes Jaehyun’s heart pound to see him. He looks like something out of a fairytale, and Doyoung being by his side doesn’t help Jaehyun’s nerves.

Jaehyun likes Doyoung. When he and Taeyong were dating, he and Doyoung got on fine. But once he and Taeyong broke up… there had been one phone call, late at night, and Jaehyun was maybe drunk, and Doyoung was definitely not drunk enough to be answering Taeyong’s phone but still doing it anyway, and afterwards Jaehyun labeled Taeyong in his phone as `Royal Bastard` and Johnny refused to let him drink alone for an entire week. Seeing him now, all the way across the room—Jaehyun’s skin might as well break out in hives.

“Huh,” says Yuta. “Who knew Ten had it in him.”

When Jaehyun turns to look at him, Yuta is only watching the man beside Ten—the tall one, who seems more familiar the longer Jaehyun looks.

“That’s Lucas—Wong Yukhei—the model,” explains Yuta, when he catches Jaehyun staring. “Ten met him at fashion week last October and pined for _months_ … good to know it’s working out.”

Jaehyun stares harder at this Lucas and places him in more than a few Burberry ads. “Oh—”

“I’ve been in Japan for the past month,” Yuta keeps explaining, thankfully not trying to move the two of them closer to where Taeyong and Doyoung have met up with Taeyong’s sister and Lee Jinkyu, who both seem particularly delighted to see him—and take the opportunity to pinch both of Taeyong’s cheeks. “Shall we go say hello—Ten—”

“No—” Jaehyun grabs his hand to stop him, and Yuta freezes, gaze locking on where Jaehyun has stopped him from waving with his fingers. Jaehyun tries to let go the moment he realizes he’s basically holding hands with Yuta in a room entirely filled with royals who think he’s here on a _date_ with the man, but the damage has been done. And then Yuta tightens his grip almost painfully, leaving Jaehyun’s hand well and truly trapped.

“So, you did know Taeyongie was coming,” says Yuta. “Good to know.”

Jaehyun glares at him, but Yuta only smiles.

“We don’t have to say hello—”

“Yuta-hyung!” It’s Ten, because of course it is, and he drags his model boyfriend all the way across the exhibition hall to meet them, drawing eyes as he goes. Doyoung and Taeyong end up following, and the whole way, Jaehyun hears warning bells in his head, until he’s face-to-face with Taeyong and the full extent of Doyoung’s reckoning.

“Ten,” greets Yuta, bowing in greeting, before allowing himself to be pulled in for a hug. “Taeyongie. Doyoungie.” He dips his head at them both as he goes.

“Yuta-hyung,” says Doyoung. “And—”

“Jaehyun,” finishes Taeyong, with wide eyes.

It’s so fucking awkward. Jaehyun doesn’t know how he survives. “Hi,” he says finally. “Taeyong. I, uh, told you I didn’t need your help.” Abruptly, he realizes he and Yuta are still holding hands—mostly because Taeyong stares, eyes dropping to gaze at them in what feels like slow motion horror.

Yuta—the bastard—doesn’t loosen his grip.

Ten is the one to break the silence. “Jaehyunnie,” he says, blinking. “Are you and Yuta—”

“No,” Jaehyun says, before he can even finish. “No—I’m working—nice to meet you—” He gets his hand free of Yuta and turns to face Lucas, smiling what he hopes is pleasantly and dipping his head “I’m Jeong Jaehyun.”

“Lucas,” Lucas says, bowing as well. “Do you—”

“Jaehyunnie used to date Taeyongie-hyung,” Doyoung says snidely, and Jaehyun could just die.

“Doyoung-hyung,” he says, turning the full extent of his smile on Doyoung. “Good to see you, too.”

Doyoung stares at him like he’s bitten into a lemon but dips his head politely enough. He doesn’t say anything else, though, and Jaehyun’s discomfort only grows. 

“Working?” says Ten, taking pity. “Like”—he leans in, shielding his mouth with his hands—“because of the murders—”

Jaehyun laughs nervously but nods anyway. “Yes, but don’t say anything—”

“No, of course not.” Ten looks serious. “It’s terrible what happened.” He nudges Taeyong, and Taeyong smiles back at him. “Just awful, Taeyongie, really.”

Jaehyun manages to smile at all of them and it’s not even a little fake.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us.” Ten smiles and takes Lucas by the hand, making Jaehyun realize just how great their height difference is—Lucas being taller than even Doyoung, and making Jaehyun have to tilt his head. “We should probably go say hello to the man of the hour,” Ten finishes, nodding his head towards Donghae and Hyukjae. “Hyung,” he says to Yuta, before they head off.

“We should too,” says Taeyong, grabbing Doyoung by his own hand, and practically hauling the man away.

Yuta watches them all go with all too knowing eyes, before slanting his gaze towards Jaehyun. “Alcohol?” he offers.

“Yes please,” says Jaehyun. Fuck professionalism. These are extenuating circumstances.

* * *

Eventually the party moves to a fancy restaurant near the museum, and the museum has spared no expense. They’d booked the entire floor despite the number of people in attendance shrinking considerably, and there’s a beautiful view of the river. It’s quieter and more intimate, so Jaehyun starts to feel a little more superfluous, especially when he spots Changmin standing nearby with what has to be the rest of palace security. He’s accompanied by the man Jaehyun knows is Kim Jungwoo’s main security—Cho Kyuhyun. Jungwoo’s not a Lee, but his mother is from the same noble family as Taeyong’s grandmother and his father is some bigshot in his industry, so of course he has a bodyguard. Kim Jungwoo is also not here—only Doyoung is—but when Jaehyun looks between Kyuhyun and Doyoung curiously, Taeyong’s best friend just raises one eyebrow, as if to say, “What of it?”

Jaehyun remembers more than a few happy conversations spent as the two normal people dating royalty, and swallows back any and all commentary.

The food is good. Normally Jaehyun would kill for a chance to eat some of the things on the menu, but tonight, the food turns to ash in his mouth. He’s far too distracted by every little move Taeyong makes; admittedly probably doing nothing to help his case, given his boss is present, and his date is Yuta.

Jaehyun and Yuta have ended up at a table with Ten, Lucas, Johnny, and Mark, which absolutely is not helping matters, especially given Jaehyun has no choice but to keep glancing at Doyoung and Taeyong since the two of them have ended up seated with Donghae.

“So Jaehyunnie,” says Yuta, after he ends a particularly rousing discussion with Ten about the use of the sanggam technique to get some pretty impressive detailing of a pair of cranes on one of the vases. “I didn’t know you were so into… pottery.” It’s like he was waiting for Taeyong to throw his head back and laugh uproariously at something Donghae’s husband Hyukjae has said. The entire table has to suffer the awkward pause while Jaehyun’s brain reboots after the sight of Taeyong’s godly jawline.

“What?” Jaehyun says, which absolutely doesn’t help at all. “I mean shut up—”

Yuta just grins, clearly pleased.

“Jaehyun-hyung’s always liked art, though,” says Mark—the only friend Jaehyun has—and Jaehyun glances gratefully at him, only to scowl when he catches the tail end of Johnny elbowing his boyfriend in the side. “What—oh,” says Mark.

Jaehyun glowers at Johnny. “In case you’ve forgotten, it’s literally our job to—”

“Moon after Taeyongie?” offers Yuta, and Jaehyun debates stabbing him with a salad fork.

“—watch Donghae,” finishes Jaehyun through his teeth.

As one, the entire table focuses on said Donghae, finding the prince grinning, and talking animatedly with Jinkyu. He plucks food off his plate and plops it in his mouth all without looking, leaning against his husband as he talks with his other hand. Across from him are some bigshots from the museum, but next to him is Taeyong, and though Jaehyun tries, he can’t help but slide his gaze there. It’s—it’s because of the worry, the nagging thought that surely it couldn’t just be a coincidence that Taeyong was the person their killer was setting up for the throne.

“Oh, you’re definitely watching Donghae,” says Yuta. “My mistake.”

Jaehyun glares at him, but before he can defend himself, Donghae is standing from his seat, clearly excusing himself to go use the restroom. Taeyong stands too, and immediately Johnny shoves in a giant mouthful of food, raising both shoulders to shrug helplessly at Jaehyun.

“You’re dead to me,” Jaehyun tells him, before narrowing his eyes around at the rest of the table. But he gets to his feet to do his job regardless, because Byoungjun-hyung is distracted with another table, and it seems palace security has decided it’s unlikely their ward will get killed at the urinal. Jaehyun would have thought after two murders and one almost-murder, they’d be more wary, but whatever. He’ll do their job for them.

Despite being a very fancy restaurant, the bathroom ends up only having a few stalls, and Jaehyun decides to draw the line at watching the prince go about his business. Instead he steps inside, appraises enough to notice there are no windows or other ways in beside the door, and spins right back out—hopefully before Donghae or Taeyong notices. Then he stands outside the door, feeling a little stupid, and trying to give off a vibe of waiting pointlessly for the bathroom, or something. He’s just starting to think it’s not the worst thing he’s ever had to do in the name of his job, when the door creaks back open, and Taeyong steps out, drying his hands. He’s put his back to the door so he doesn’t have to touch the handle, which means he doesn’t see Jaehyun for two horrifying seconds, but two horrifying seconds is all Jaehyun needs to make a noise that he’ll insist to his grave is not a squeak, and then Taeyong turns, eyes growing wide, and the two of them come face to face again for the second time that evening.

Taeyong’s really fucking pretty, Jaehyun notices. His hair’s more styled than Jaehyun would have expected this late into the party, and it’s falling into his eyes. His brows. His face. Jaehyun needs this case to be _over_ , so he can go back to pretending they never crossed paths.

“Jaehyun,” says Taeyong, still standing awkwardly in front of the door. He gestures back over his shoulder. “Did you need—there’s more than one urinal—”

“It’s fine,” Jaehyun interrupts, feeling his ears burn. “I’m working.”

Taeyong takes a long moment to dissect that, expressions rippling over his features like water, and Jaehyun realizes abruptly that he’s starting to peel back the mask, finally. The walls are coming down—or maybe Jaehyun’s just been around him enough in the past few weeks that he’s starting to remember how to look past all the well-guarded royal shields. He’s almost _pleased_ about that, and then he feels like an idiot.

“Oh,” says Taeyong. He still doesn’t move from the doorway, and that’s definitely going to be a problem once Donghae comes back out. “I didn’t know you were still friendly with Yuta,” Taeyong continues. His hands are still up by his chest, fingers not quite interlocked. He looks nervous. He _sounds_ nervous. Jaehyun hates that.

(Jaehyun _worries_ with that nagging, still-probably-in-love part of him.)

“I’m not,” he says.

Taeyong’s eyebrow raises.

“I mean we text, sometimes,” Jaehyun says. “We watch a lot of the same shows—listen to a lot of the same music.” Yuta never really felt the same as all of Taeyong’s other friends—Doyoung, son of a famous actress, Ten, heir to some company fortune, Mark, as royal as Taeyong—probably because he wasn’t a member of the Japanese aristocracy so much as he was an employee of the Japanese aristocracy. And moreover, Taeyong had forced Jaehyun’s hand, so he shouldn’t be interrogating—

Jaehyun cuts off his train of thought by digging his nails into his palms, angry about it’s absurdity. Taeyong is just making small talk, since Jaehyun is creeping outside the bathroom he was just in, and Taeyong is polite. “How did you like the exhibit?” he says, trying for casual. “I thought they did a great job, and really made the pieces tell a story—your family’s story.”

Taeyong flinches so fast that Jaehyun almost misses it, but then he smiles. “It was beautiful,” he says. “Donghae-hyung’s dad would have been so proud.”

Jaehyun opens his mouth to agree, stepping forward when the door creaks to put a hand on Taeyong’s elbow. “You should—”

Taeyong’s flinch is almost full body this time, and Jaehyun drops his hand instantly. It means the door nearly collides with Taeyong’s back, only Donghae’s quick thinking preventing that from happening.

“Oh—sorry—Taeyongie,” Donghae says, pausing with the door part of the way open. “Did you get lost? Were you waiting for me?”

Taeyong looks like he’s having trouble finding the words to speak, but Jaehyun doesn’t want to risk another reaction by touching him.

“Hyung,” he hisses. “Move.”

Unfortunately, that draws Donghae’s attention to Jaehyun, and he pokes his head out the door and waves. “Jaehyunnie,” he says. “Did you draw the short straw and end up on bathroom duty?” Donghae doesn’t seem too bothered being trapped in the bathroom, but Jaehyun is starting to feel bad.

“Daegam,” Jaehyun says, dipping his head—mostly to watch Donghae roll his eyes.

Taeyong finally seems to get himself together, stepping quickly to the side so that Donghae can pass. Donghae does, although he does linger with a hand on the door, eyes darting between the two of them. But very kindly, he says nothing; just lets go of the door and is on his way, hands in both pockets and practically whistling.

Jaehyun turns furious, embarrassed eyes on Taeyong and fights the urge to shake him. “What the fuck was that?” he hisses. “I told Byoungjun-hyung that there wasn’t going to be a problem with me being on this case!”

Taeyong snaps a little more out of it, two spots of color flaring to life on the highs of his cheeks. “Excuse me if I’m still a little fucked up over the fact that until you _saw me not kill one of them_ , you thought I was going around murdering people to become king,” he snaps. “My own _family_. Murdering my own family to become king.” He seems to realize he’s starting to raise his voice, because his next words come out a very angry whisper. “It’s so nice to know that’s what you think of me after _two years_ —”

“It’s my _job_ to be suspicious of everyone,” Jaehyun snaps back, which isn’t “I never thought it was you and you _know that_ , we’ve even already talked about it,” so he’s counting it as a win. “Hyung—”

“Whatever.” Taeyong has clearly put his walls back up and Jaehyun fights the urge to just scream. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to watching Donghae-hyung?” He tips his head, and Jaehyun looks regardless just to be sure. He can’t see anything over in the hallway by the bathrooms, but he still looks.

“Yes,” he starts to say, for some reason still terribly angry, and is interrupted by Changmin, popping around the corner. He’s got his phone to his right ear.

“There you are,” Taeyong’s bodyguard says. “We’re leaving. Kyu will get Doyoungie—no I’m not talking to you.”

Jaehyun’s mouth has fallen open, but it’s Taeyong who speaks. “We haven’t even finished the first course,” he says.

Changmin seems to appraise Jaehyun in two seconds flat, before narrowing his eyes down at Taeyong. “We’ll get it to go,” he says. “We need to go— _now_ —no, not _you_ , you idiot—you stay there until the police come!”

Jaehyun feels his spine straighten at those words.

“Police?” says Taeyong, voicing what Jaehyun can’t. “Why are you on the phone with the police—”

“I don’t give a fuck how much blood there is, you’re staying with the body—if you throw up, consider it penance—” Changmin’s eyes are practically sparking with rage, but he pulls the phone away from his mouth and covers it so he can answer Taeyong. “There’s been another murder,” he says, clipped. He glances at Jaehyun as he speaks, and Jaehyun’s hands twitch for the gun he’s not carrying, and the badge, tucked into his pocket. “Your cousin,” Changmin says. “Andy.”

There’s resounding silence all around. Jaehyun becomes aware of raised voices—Byoungjun-hyung, ripping into someone, and probably more palace security. The party’s wrapping up by force, from the sounds of it, and not everyone is pleased.

“Andy,” says Taeyong. “Andy?”

“Andy Lee?” Jaehyun says, shocked out of his silence. “Andy Lee—Lee Sunho, that Andy?”

Changmin nods crisply. “Yes—”

“Why the _fuck_ was Andy Lee in Korea?” snaps Jaehyun before he can continue, reaching for the phone automatically.

“Excuse me—” starts to say Changmin, but Jaehyun has already grabbed the thing out of his hand. 

“Who is this?” Jaehyun barks and listens for the man to list off his name automatically—a Han Sungjin, who sounds somewhat taken aback by Jaehyun’s tone of voice, but still complies with his questioning. “Han Sungjin,” Jaehyun says, once the man is done. “Well, _Han Sungjin_ , you want to explain to me why Andy Lee was in Korea?”

There is a painfully awkward pause. “Sorry,” Sungjin says finally. “Who are you?”

Jaehyun provides his name and badge with minimal patience. “Well?” he says when he’s done.

“Andy flew in tonight,” says Sungjin. “It was spur of the moment decision—his uncle’s birthday is Saturday.”

Jaehyun grinds his teeth. “There is a murderer on the loose,” he says.

“Yes, well, it was very last minute,” says Sungjin. “Only a few people knew—and only people on palace staff—”

Jaehyun fights the urge to turn and start banging his head against the nearest hard surface. “I see,” he says, still through heavily gritted teeth. “Well obviously one of those people _is our murderer_ —”

Sungjin makes a noise, clearly taking issue with Jaehyun’s statement, and Changmin shifts like he’s going to take the phone. Jaehyun stalks forward before he can do so. “Now, look, I—he was only alone for a minute—”

“And in that minute, _he was murdered_ —”

“Okay, he does know that’s still my phone—”

Jaehyun ignores Changmin. “The next time a member of the royal family so much as _breathes_ you will fucking _call me_.” He doesn’t even wait for Sungjin to answer, pulling the phone away from his face and ending the call. Then he whirls back around to give Changmin back his phone.

Changmin makes him stand there with an outstretched hand for ten terrible seconds, and in those seconds, the adrenaline starts to wear off. Jaehyun feels horror ice his veins. He. Well he grabbed Changmin’s phone, and then he shouted at someone who works security for the palace, and then he told that person if anyone in the royal family so much as breathed, he was to call Jaehyun—he gave the man _his badge number_. Eventually Changmin takes the phone, and Jaehyun is able to try to save face. Only when he turns to face Taeyong, he finds the man frozen.

Jaehyun was with Taeyong for nearly two years. He knows what the look on his face is—the dilated pupils, the stillness of his features, the way his hands, hanging down at his sides every so often seem to twitch—like he wants to grip, or hold, or _stroke_ —

Jaehyun is the one nearly flinching away from the situation now, and no one’s tried to touch him.

Finally, Taeyong seems to find his voice. “Andy-hyung is… dead,” he says, into the uncomfortable silence.

“Yes,” says Changmin, expression unreadable. “He was murdered outside of a restaurant.”

“Shit,” swears Taeyong, and sways. He doesn’t fight Jaehyun when he reaches for him this time, letting Jaehyun steady him and lead him away from the bathrooms to sink into a conveniently empty chair. After a moment’s pause, Doyoung, Ten, and Yuta come into view, all of them looking worried, but Jaehyun is already scanning for the rest of his team. He finds only Johnny, who sets a glass of water down in front of Taeyong without comment.

“They went to see the crime scene,” he tells Jaehyun, in a hush. “It’s not pretty—”

Jaehyun watches Mark sink into the chair directly next to Taeyong and the two of them seem to automatically lean shift closer together in comfort. “Hyung,” he tries to chide.

Johnny’s eyes are sharp, and he refuses to lower his voice. “Someone hit him over the head with a baseball bat,” he continues. “One of the employees found him when she went to take out the trash.” He purses his lips. “There are cameras, but it’s not looking great.”

Taeyong has set the glass down and is now just bent over the table resting his forehead in both hands, but when Doyoung leans in to talk to him in a whisper, he doesn’t mince his words either. “No, Doyoungie, I’m not going to throw up. I’m just dealing with some horrifying self-awareness right now.”

Jaehyun refocuses on Johnny, actually trying to keep quiet when _he_ speaks. “Andy Lee is directly in front of Lee Donghae in line for the throne,” he says. “Like… directly—his father was two years older than Donghae’s—” He shoots a glance around the room and notes that Donghae hasn’t been secreted away and is instead standing in a corner with his husband and their own entourage. “It doesn’t make sense,” Jaehyun finishes.

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “And he wasn’t supposed to be back in the country—he only booked the flight today.”

It does not look good. Jaehyun appraises all the facts, sorts them to their logical conclusion, and feels a little like he ought to be the one bent over a table hiding his face. They have a leak, and it’s not in with their team—it’s among the palace staff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all next week! Also, I totally forgot I wrote out the succession in case it would be helpful to see who's an OC and who's not, so be sure to check that out in the primer.
> 
> Share this fic: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835)  
> Read the primer: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/royalau)


	5. Five

Around the time Donghae and his retinue appear beside the table holding Taeyong and his breakdown, Jaehyun starts to feel a little in over his head. He’s still reeling from the adrenaline rush of yelling at some poor palace guard, and the reality of the situation—they have a serial killer targeting the royal family—is starting to sink in. The panic only gets worse when Taeyong lifts his head, looks Donghae in the eyes, and says, “No offense, by why didn’t they go after you?”

Jaehyun could just strangle him.

Donghae just blinks.

“You’re next in line,” Taeyong explains, a little more toneless than Jaehyun had been expecting, and honestly, scarier for it. “Why did they skip you?”

There’s a moment of silence where all of them seem to think that over, and Jaehyun makes frantic eye contact with Johnny, assuming Johnny will take charge of the situation.

“Yes, why did they skip Donghae?” Johnny says. “Jaehyun?” Jaehyun gapes back at him. “Any ideas?” When Jaehyun stares, Johnny just raises a brow.

“Erm,” says Jaehyun, glancing around. It’s him, Taeyong, Doyoung, Mark, Ten, Yuta—Changmin, Kyuhyun—Donghae’s people, Donghae’s husband. Donghae’s husband. Donghae’s _husband_. Jaehyun gnaws on the inside of his mouth.

Taeyong’s eyes narrow. “What?” he says. “You thought of something.”

Yuta makes a noise and Doyoung and Ten exchange a _look_ but Jaehyun just stares at Donghae and tries to figure out how to put this delicately.

“Well,” he ends up saying. “Maybe it’s because of Hyukjae-hyung.”

Donghae’s husband blinks at his name, and then looks around at all of them as if to confirm. “Me?” he says.

Jaehyun hates his life. “Yes,” he says. “Just… whoever we’re dealing with obviously has… certain ideas about who is and isn’t fit to rule.”

There’s silence.

“Oh, you mean because I’m a man,” Hyukjae says finally, and Jaehyun could just burst into flames.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m just spitballing here, though.”

Taeyong barks out a laugh. “That’s ridiculous,” he says. “ _I’m going to marry a man_.”

Doyoung starts coughing loudly, but no one else seems particularly bothered. Johnny does cross his arms, though. “Are you?” he says. “What about Seulgi?”

Taeyong gapes at him. “That was—that was just the press being _stupid_ ,” he says, which, great. Now Jaehyun’s thinking about that time in 2019 when he couldn’t read any tabloid news because every other headline was `The Korean Royal Family Is Rocked by Controversial Divorce` or `Look How Hot This Branch of the Royal Family We Totally Forgot Existed Is` or `Lee Taeyong and Kang Seulgi: Storybook Love Story or Forbidden Love`

Johnny looks unimpressed.

“Look, it _can’t_ be that,” Taeyong continues. “Whoever it is wants me on the throne, right?” He glances between Johnny and Jaehyun now waiting for confirmation, and Jaehyun can practically hear Taeil telling him off, even though it’s not like Taeyong was kept in the dark about this; he got questioned multiple times about it. “And I’m—I’ve dated _plenty of men_.”

Someone coughs, but unfortunately Jaehyun isn’t fast enough to figure out if it’s Ten or Yuta.

“I’ve even dated _Doyoung_ —”

Doyoung is the one coughing now, loudly and like he’s choked on some food. “Woah, hey, no,” he says, gesturing with both hands. “Excuse you. That was a moment of weakness and I resent the fact that you’re using it against me—”

“My point is it can’t be because Donghae-hyung is married to a man,” Taeyong says. “By that logic Eunsung-hyung and Jaesung-hyung shouldn’t count too.” At everyone’s vacant stares he continues, “Their only connection to the throne is through a woman?”

Jaehyun has to concede that point, although he wouldn’t have necessarily have made the leap from “has narrow-minded ideas about marriage” to “does not believe in the value of women.”

“And Eunsung did date men, too,” Ten points out after a moment, and then shrugs when Johnny narrows his eyes at him. “What? I don’t live under a rock. And Taeyongie’s _my friend_.”

Johnny seems to give him that, but his arms remain crossed. He’s still not discouraging the conversation, and Jaehyun has no idea why. But there are more important matters at hand and Jaehyun decides they’re wasting time. He faces Donghae. “Donghae-ssi, I still think you should stay in the safe house,” Jaehyun tells the prince instead of thinking about it further, and Donghae just stares back at him with a kind smile. “I know this was a very important event for you, but obviously…”

“Oh, believe me, there will be no more flaunting around in public,” Hyukjae says, putting a hand on Donghae’s shoulder and glaring. “We’ll be taking no chances, no matter how much of a bigot our killer is.”

Taeyong looks like he wants to argue the point some more, but Jaehyun is able to silence him with a glare. Once they both realize they’ve done that, Taeyong refuses to make eye contact with Jaehyun, while Johnny seems to have an entire argument with Mark through staring alone, and Donghae and Hyukjae seem to decide they should head back to the safe house immediately.

“Of course,” Johnny says, making sure their guards have his number. “Stay safe.” He bows, then adds, “Congratulations on the exhibit. It was lovely.”

“Yeah, Jaehyunnie really loved the gourds!” says Yuta, and Jaehyun takes great joy in stepping pointedly on the man’s foot.

Donghae and Hyukjae both just nod, bow as well, and vanish out of the restaurant’s front doors.

Jaehyun looks at Johnny. “Should we head to the crime scene?” he starts to say but is interrupted by Doyoung.

“You’re really just going to leave it at that?” the man says, looking between Johnny and Jaehyun with a surprisingly sharp gaze. “You’re just going to assume they didn’t come after Donghae-hyung for reasons of bigotry and not even offer Taeyongie’s family a security detail—”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes at Doyoung. “We offered to send an officer and they refused—”

“Taeyong’s sister is more than protected at the palace,” Changmin interjects simply, even as Kyuhyun drops his head into his hands as if in despair. Taeyong lets him say his piece, but then sends the both of them off with a glare; the two of them cross the room with an unfairly few amount of strides to loiter menacingly along a far wall.

“Shouldn’t you be putting _Taeyong-hyung_ under protection?” Doyoung continues, clearly picking up steam. “Whoever is attacking people clearly has a thing for _him_ —”

It’s too close to how Jaehyun’s felt since they figured out what was going on, but he can’t say any of that because he has to be professional.

“I’m pretty sure Taeyong-ssi is just as protected as his sister is, at the palace,” Johnny says, tone surprisingly frosty—even Mark looks at him funny. “And besides, I think we can all agree that whoever it is clearly Taeyong-ssi’s fan—”

“His _fan_ —” Doyoung starts to say, but Taeyong cuts him off with a look.

Jaehyun’s kind of speechless himself, at a loss for why Johnny’s being so… cruel.

“What is your problem?” says Taeyong finally, looking away from Doyoung and addressing Johnny full on. “You’re dating _my cousin_ , you know. Mark talks to me—I know you’re supposed to be _nice_.” Immediately Mark starts choking on air and Yuta has to pound him on the back a few times to help, but Taeyong just keeps staring up at Johnny with what looks like honest confusion.

Johnny just stares right back with shockingly cold eyes, and Jaehyun has a terribly bad feeling about this. Dread starts to swirl in his stomach.

“Hyung,” he starts to say, but it’s too late.

“I am nice,” Johnny says. “Just not to the people who’ve broken my best friend’s heart.”

For two horrible moments, the only sounds in the restaurant are the staff quietly cleaning up the empty tables and Jaehyun’s own, panicked breathing. Then Taeyong says, “Sorry, I broke _his heart_?” in what sounds like mostly shocked horror near simultaneously with Doyoung, who looks pointedly at Jaehyun and says, “Taeyongie broke _your_ heart?”

Jaehyun needed to end this conversation yesterday. “Johnny-hyung—”

Johnny talks right over him, putting a hand on Jaehyun’s arm to halt him in his tracks. “You’re going to deny it?” he asks Taeyong. “When you got caught by the papers out clubbing with Red Velvet not three _hours_ after the two of you had broken up?”

Jaehyun should just go to the bathroom and put his head under the sink, or something, with cold water only; anything would be preferable to this.

Taeyong is staring at Johnny with his mouth fallen open, but it’s Doyoung who clears his throat. “Yah,” he says. “Jeong-hyungsa.”

Jaehyun faces him abruptly, startled.

“You really went around telling your friends Taeyongie broke _your heart_?”

Johnny looks about two seconds from squaring up against the man, and the height difference alone makes that kind of unfair.

“Hyung,” Jaehyun tries to interject.

“Typical,” says Doyoung. “Just goes to show that you weren’t worth Taeyongie _going to your place to beg you not to leave him in the first place, full on_ Notting Hill—”

“Okay!” Taeyong says, almost in unison with Jaehyun, who finds himself on the receiving end of Johnny’s stare now, and who would really like to just burst into flames. “We’ll just all be going now! Hyung!”

Changmin lifts away from the wall like a called dog.

“Get the car!”

Changmin’s off before Jaehyun can so much as blink, but Doyoung looks livid and Johnny is unreadable, his features more like a stoic mask.

“Jaehyun,” Taeyong says. “Johnny-hyung.”

Johnny doesn’t even look away from Jaehyun.

“Mark, Yuta—it was nice seeing you all, we should do this again some time—come _on_ , Dongyoung—”

For two seconds Jaehyun thinks Doyoung is going to fight the grip Taeyong’s got on his right hand, but eventually the man gives in, and Taeyong is able to haul him away from the group and towards a waiting Kyuhyun.

It’s only once they’re completely gone that Jaehyun slides Taeyong’s abandoned seat out far enough so that he can sink gracelessly into it, feeling like a puppet with cut strings. He drops his forehead into his hands and breathes, exhaling loudly. “Look, before we get into it, can we solve the murders, first?” he asks Johnny, and it’s a testament to just how good a friend Johnny is that it doesn’t take very long for the man to sigh, drop a hand right in between Jaehyun’s shoulder blades, and agree.

“Yeah, alright,” Johnny says. “But Jaehyunnie… what the fuck?”

“I told you there had to be more to the story than what you were saying,” Mark offers quietly from Jaehyun’s side. When Jaehyun lifts his head to look at him, Mark colors, but holds his ground. “Just—Taeyong-hyung’s a good person. He wouldn’t… do that.”

He leaves the rest unsaid—that if Taeyong wasn’t the one who did it, Jaehyun very clearly was—but all of them are kind enough not to mention it.

“Right,” Ten says finally. “I think we’ll be going now too.” He glances between Johnny and Jaehyun. “Unless you need us to give statements or something?”

“Oh, no,” Jaehyun says. “Thanks.” He dips his head in Lucas’ direction. “Nice meeting you.”

“I’m going to head out too,” Yuta says, poking into view. “But don’t be a stranger, Jaehyun-ah. This was fun.” He grins. “We might even be able to find you more gourds.”

Jaehyun makes to hurl a napkin at him, but Yuta just laughs, utterly unbothered, and exits with Ten and Lucas.

This leaves Mark and Johnny, and Jaehyun drove over with Yuta, so. Neither of them say anything about it for a long while though, and Jaehyun sighs. “I wasn’t exactly in the best place in 2019.” Jaehyun doesn’t look at Johnny when he speaks, but he gets through it, and that’s saying something. “You know, when everything went down.”

“Doyoung seemed pretty insistent that Taeyong came to talk to you—‘to beg you not to leave him,’ or whatever.”

Jaehyun winces just thinking about it—Taeyong standing in the middle of that Starbucks with his heart on his metaphorical sleeve and Jaehyun… just washing dishes. “I didn’t want to make a big deal about it,” he whispers.

Johnny is silent.

“Sorry—”

“After we solve the case,” Johnny says. “Come on. Up. Let’s go do our job.”

* * *

There are no prints on the baseball bat that ended Andy Lee’s life, no way to ID the culprit from the security camera outside the restaurant, and no leads anywhere else. Andy’s official cause of death is a skull fracture, and Kun doesn’t even really need the blood spatter to determine that, given the video. It’s pretty damning evidence, even though the culprit is masked and hidden. The timestamp further clears Taeyong and also everyone else at the exhibit opening, but despite all that, they have no solid leads. Which makes it remarkably easy for Johnny to lure Jaehyun out of the office that Friday to drag him back to Donghae’s exhibit, which opened to the public the day before.

Johnny only has to suggest that they go somewhere else for lunch to get Jaehyun up and out of his seat. If Jaehyun has to read over Andy Lee’s travel itinerary one more time, he’s going to invent time travel simply so _he_ can kill the man, after wrestling away the keys to his private jet so he can take off for sand and sea. Jaehyun is so relieved he’s not at his desk that he doesn’t realize that he’s been cornered until they’re walking through the exhibit for the second time and Johnny turns to him like some sort of predator stalking prey.

“So,” Johnny says. “How much of what Doyoung said was hyperbole?”

Jaehyun nearly swallows his tongue. “Hyung,” he says. There had been food, before the exhibit, and Jaehyun had let his guard down. Now, his stomach churns dangerously.

Johnny just raises a brow. “Well?”

Jaehyun sighs. “He might have… come to see me… after I freaked out,” he says.

Johnny keeps staring at him with his eyebrow raised.

“And I might have… ignored him—look, as I said, I didn’t want to talk about it—”

“Jaehyun-ah,” Johnny says. “You let me believe he broke your heart for _three years_.”

Jaehyun feels his ears flush. “Well he did,” he mutters, and glances around the gallery for something to use as a distraction but comes up empty. Johnny just keeps looking and Jaehyun feels his shoulders raise. He forces them back down. “But I might have… also… broken his.” Johnny’s got that look on his face that helps them get confessions out of criminals, and Jaehyun is going to bring lunch to work for the rest of his life. “He was in the papers and then he was seen out with Seulgi and you and Taeil were really, really angry, and it was just easier—” Jaehyun breaks off, uncertain how to finish that sentence.

“To let me spend the next three years making disparaging comments until Mark had to put a ban on all mentions of cousin Taeyong?” offers Johnny, and Jaehyun can only stare.

“No,” he says, almost aghast.

Johnny nods. “Oh yes,” he says. “Three years, Jaehyunnie. You were absolutely _enamored_.” Jaehyun flinches, but Johnny just keeps going, really hammering in the final nail on Jaehyun’s coffin. “Taeilie and I were ready to take bets on when the wedding was—I had no shortage of princess jokes at the ready, your mom started looking at wedding halls—don’t worry; I told her nothing short of a palace wedding for our Jaehyunnie—and then all of a sudden you’re broken up? And then not twenty-four hours after you text me ‘we broke up’ the man is seen out clubbing with some girl group?”

Jaehyun flinches again, and looks at his feet, then at the piece of historic pottery in front of them. It’s one of the more elaborately decorated pieces—a large pitcher with a stunning attention to detail. The blurb beside the piece names it as a maebyeong and details the sanggam technique, going to great pains to explain how the artist would have achieved the intricate design. Jaehyun runs his eyes over the sentences again and again, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“Of course I was angry on your behalf, Jaehyun,” says Johnny. “Jaehyun. _Jaehyun._ Look at me.” Jaehyun does, and Johnny’s expression is finally kind. “But I’m not really mad now,” he says. “Really.” Johnny smiles.

And now Jaehyun is angry for a whole other set of reasons, the first being how raw around the edges he feels, how close to tears. “You—Johnny-hyung.”

“Your ex is involved in this case,” Johnny says. “Intimately—to the point where there’s no way around talking to him. Working with him. Are you okay?”

Jaehyun hasn’t slept well since he got the call about Andy and had to read the autopsy—cause of death: a depressed skull fracture due to blunt force trauma to the head from multiple blows by a baseball bat, the weapon in question retrieved from the crime scene. He keeps unlocking and then relocking his phone because every little thing makes him want to text Taeyong, like things are normal and they’re friends who talk to each other, instead of ex-lovers who haven’t spoken for three years. Yuta’s back in his life, and keeps trying to extend Jaehyun an invitation to dinner, but Jaehyun _knows_ accepting it would be tantamount to putting a foot in a bear trap.

Jaehyun could say that he’s okay, but he would be lying.

The more worrying thing are the dreams—nightmare scenarios where their killer decides they’d rather Donghyuck be king instead of Taeyong, and they kill Mark and Taeyong both. Those would have been awful enough on premise alone, but are only made worse by the fact that Jaehyun’s imagination has reality to draw from. Jaehyun remembers a lot of things. The way Taeyong looked with dark hair, spilled out across Jaehyun’s dorm pillows or Taeyong’s bed in Gyeongbokgung. The scar under his eye, under his belly button, on his right knee. Birthmarks. Collarbones. Laugh lines. How Taeyong sounded happy. How Taeyong sounded sad. It’s been too easy for Jaehyun’s brain to translate that out into how Taeyong would look _dying_ , and Jaehyun?

Jaehyun isn’t okay.

Jaehyun has been silent for far too long.

“Right,” Johnny says, putting a hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder and then turning back towards the piece in front of them. “What do you think of this?”

Jaehyun manages to find his tongue, and ramble on somewhat intelligibly about the use of red slip versus white slip like he’s done more than use the internet and maybe take some pottery classes in college. Johnny drapes an arm around his shoulders in front of a pair of vases, and then leaves it there, the full weight of him somehow only warm and comforting, and not at all heavy. Jaehyun still makes a fuss about it, complaining that he’s getting a workout, and that Johnny should lay off the protein shakes. Johnny just laughs, before dragging Jaehyun off to stare at some sort of important looking tea kettle, shaped like a dragon and something.

“Hey,” Johnny says, pointing. “Isn’t that one of the zodiac?”

It takes Jaehyun an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure out just what Johnny is talking about, but once he does, he can’t help but pull a face. “No,” he says, even as he has to concede the second animal is probably a fish. “That’s a goat and a fish. Not a dragon and a fish.”

“Ah, so you do care a little bit about fake science.” Johnny hums—the asshole. “What are we again?”

“Air,” Jaehyun growls, as Johnny does his best to strangle Jaehyun with affection.

* * *

Jaehyun wakes from a dead sleep to a pounding on his door and spends about two seconds blinking clearly into the darkness of his bedroom, having trouble placing where the noise is coming from. He figures it out a few moments later and feels around on his bedside table for his glasses and phone. The time reads two-seventeen, and Jaehyun takes another long moment puzzling through the silenced notifications on his home screen, all of them reduced to `XX-nim sent a message in KakaoTalk` by his privacy settings.

The banging on his front door continues.

Jaehyun clicks the phone locked and swings his feet out of bed. Thank God he decided to wear a shirt to bed, even if it is an old KNPU one with more than a few holes. It’s all he can do to make it out of the bedroom and across the living room. Thank God Jaehyun keeps his place relatively clean, and there’s nothing to trip and die on. He passes his coffee table, empty drying rack, and reaches the front door, yawning and rubbing sleep from his eyes. Fuck, but he’s left his glasses on the bedside table. He should go get them. But then—

The banging seems to only get _louder_.

Jaehyun sighs, yawns some more, and pulls it open.

Lee Taeyong is standing on his doorstep.

Lee Taeyong is dressed in what have to be his own pajamas—a matching set of pants patterned all over with Gudetama. Jaehyun looks at them and has a horrible moment of déjà vu, the memory of Taeyong dragging him through the streets in search of a Sanrio store flaring to the forefront of his mind. It had been during Jaehyun’s winter break, and Taeyong’s ears had been bright red. They both couldn’t stop laughing. They never found the store. And then not a year later they were—

Jaehyun cuts that train of thought off before it can even leave the station, forcing himself to focus on other details. Taeyong’s sleeves are rolled up and he’s wearing real shoes, but he still looks about as fresh out of bed as Jaehyun does, and that’s saying something. He’s shouting at Jaehyun—about what Jaehyun really doesn’t know—and he’s got at least three too many buttons undone. Had he even been sleeping in the shirt, Jaehyun can’t help but wonder. Did he just throw it on before getting in his car to come… do whatever? Harass Jaehyun. Yell at Jaehyun? Taeyong is yelling, even though Jaehyun isn’t listening, and really gathering steam. For two more seconds, Jaehyun hears nothing, and then some of what Taeyong is snarling—“I can’t believe you told all your friends _I_ broke _your_ heart, Jaehyun-ah!”—filters through.

The man moves to shove past Jaehyun into the apartment.

“Hey, wait—don’t come in—shoes,” Jaehyun says, as Taeyong, finally finished with both his abstract and introductory paragraph, steps through the doorway, moving Jaehyun through force of will alone. It must be some sort of royalty thing, because Jaehyun—Jaehyun’s a _police detective_ and Taeyong’s like an angry Chihuahua, or a Papillion, maybe, since Ruby, only, no, Taeyong’s bark can definitely match his bite, or… what is Jaehyun saying? Thinking? Doing?

Taeyong has pulled his shoes off and placed them neatly beside Jaehyun’s shoe rack and even closed the front door, but instead of critiquing Jaehyun’s interior decorating, he’s just standing in the middle of the room staring. Glaring. Crossing his arms over his chest and making his collar bones stand out even more. People like to call Jaehyun pale, but Taeyong is making Jaehyun feel self-conscious. He’s like porcelain—or maybe like celadon, only he’s not the color of a kingfisher—and… God, but Jaehyun isn’t awake enough to handle this.

Taeyong raises one eyebrow and stares even harder.

Jaehyun blinks back. “Sorry,” he says after a few more painful seconds of Taeyong staring. “Did you ask me something? It’s two-twenty in the morning, and I am not awake enough for this.”

“Why the _fuck_ did you tell all your friends that I broke your heart?” growls Taeyong, voice deep and doing nothing to help Jaehyun focus.

So Jaehyun had heard correctly. Well, fuck. “Because you did,” he says, because, well, _he did_ , and it’s obviously not what Taeyong had been expecting him to say, because whatever follow-up Taeyong had been prepping on his way over here sputters out into nothing.

“You—I—what?” says Taeyong.

Jaehyun glances around the apartment. “Where’s Changmin? Did you come alone?” He steps forward like he’s going to open the door and check for Taeyong’s bodyguard, and Taeyong takes what seems like an involuntary step back.

“No,” he says. “No—you can’t—go back.”

Jaehyun takes a step back, tilting his head to the side. “Is this fine? Or should I go further—”

Taeyong’s fingers twitch into claws. “No!” he shouts. “Not _back_ back—I mean—God.” He breaks off, swearing, and then shuts his eyes, flinching away. “What do you mean I did?” he says a few moments later, beautiful eyes open, and significantly more composed.

Jaehyun is feeling significantly more awake now, and not the better for it. “I mean you did,” he says, since there’s no point in pretending not to know what Taeyong is saying. He crosses the room towards the couch and then thinks better of it, detouring to head into the bedroom even though all of his instincts are screaming at him that that’s a bad idea. Once inside he doesn’t wait to see if Taeyong follows, just makes a beeline for his bedside so that he can grab his glasses, perching them on his face and then turning to find Taeyong _way too close_.

He notices that Taeyong’s not wearing his glasses, despite the pajamas, and wonders if he’s decided to sleep in contacts—then stares particularly hard at his eyes, trying to see if he can see any trace of consequence for that very bad decision. Then he realizes he’s staring deep into Taeyong’s eyes while standing practically chest to chest, and inhales, panicking.

Jaehyun steps back, pivots around Taeyong, and makes for the doorway. “Just needed my glasses—”

“Jaehyunnie,” Taeyong interrupts, eyes fixed on the far side of the room.

Jaehyun has a horrible sinking feeling, but he turns to see what Taeyong’s seen regardless.

“What—” is all that Taeyong can manage, one hand extended to point an accusing finger at the stack of books Jaehyun has on his desk, most of them work related, but the top of them not. _Ancient Korean Agriculture_ looks just as it had on Taeyong’s shelf at the palace, and Jaehyun fights the urge to get back in bed and hide.

“What?” he says, practically daring Taeyong to comment. “I can actually read, you know.”

For two seconds Taeyong actually seems stunned into silence, but then his cheeks color, and his eyes flash. “You haven’t answered my question,” he says, with one last look at the books before turning the full force of his ire on Jaehyun. “I’m waiting.”

Jaehyun crosses his arms and glowers right back, aware his ears are burning. “What about what I said wasn’t clear?” he says. “I let my friends believe you broke my heart because you did.”

Taeyong looks like he wants to snarl. “‘Let your friends believe,’” he repeats, both index fingers hooking around the words. “‘Let your friends believe.’ So, you didn’t tell them that, at least. I guess you’ve grown out of lying—”

Jaehyun flinches, the memory of the hours spent ignoring each other in the library making his skin start to itch something fierce. “I was twenty-three,” he says. “I’d never been with someone like you before and you were—are—” He breaks off, not sure what to even say.

“A prince,” Taeyong says for him. “You can say it. We both know it.”

“Out of my league,” Jaehyun says. “From another world—I—I panicked.”

Taeyong takes a step forward and then stops when Jaehyun backs up, his hand hanging between the two of them like a wounded dog. “I don’t want to be,” he says. “I didn’t ask to be. Hell, every day I told you I just wanted to be normal—that you made me feel normal—”

“I know,” Jaehyun says, but doesn’t go on because he doesn’t know how to explain what it felt like to hear people talk the day afterwards. Donghyuck’s father made the news and Mark’s birthday pictures hit the web and Taeyong’s jawline was all the campus could talk about, in between the nosier classmates realizing that they’d seen him around, the prince with the jaw. They’d seen him with Jaehyun. Maybe that was why Jaehyun was top of the class. Maybe that was why Jaehyun was going places. 

“And yet you still thought I would start killing my family to be king,” finishes Taeyong, sounding self-deprecating and broken. “After being together for nearly two years—”

“For the last time, you found two of the bodies—”

“You thought I was a killer—”

“Not really!” Jaehyun says. “Not really! I just”— _wanted to kiss you, and that was somehow worse!_ He manages to stop talking, only now he’s just standing in the middle of his bedroom facing the ex-love of his life thinking about how very much he’d still like to kiss the man, so maybe Jaehyun can’t call it a true win.

Taeyong looks back at him, almost calm. “You just?” he prompts.

“Never mind,” Jaehyun says, shifting his glasses up the bridge of his nose. His ears feel warm. “Is that all—”

“Why did you let me walk away?” Taeyong says suddenly, interrupting Jaehyun’s attempts to end the conversation and see him on his way. “Why did you—if I broke your heart, why did you let me?”

Jaehyun curls his hands into fists at his sides to avoid fleeing under the blankets for real this time. “I was twenty-three,” he says again. “You were a prince.”

“I didn’t _ask_ to be,” Taeyong says, the beginning of a long argument, and Jaehyun could just scream.

“I _know_ that,” he interrupts. “Fuck, I knew that back then—just—”

Taeyong’s perfectly shaped eyebrows raise. “Just?”

“You were in the papers,” Jaehyun spits. “You were all everyone would talk about. Members of your immediate family have their faces on _money_ —”

Taeyong winces. “God, don’t remind me about that—Hyuck’s on a quest to get his face on _all of it_ —”

“Forgive me if I was a little overwhelmed,” Jaehyun continues, like Taeyong hasn’t spoken. “Forgive me if I—” And the wind goes out of his sails at the look on Taeyong’s face, the churning in his stomach only worsening the longer they meet each other’s eyes. Taeyong’s brows are doing that thing again—raising. Jaehyun’s heart is doing that thing again—hurting.

“Broke my heart?” Taeyong says finally, and Jaehyun flinches, shuts his eyes. Taeyong laughs, an awful, painful thing. “It hurts, doesn’t it?” he says. “Knowing that’s what you did—”

“Why did you let me stop you?” Jaehyun interrupts, a last bail attempt to keep from sliding right off the mountain. It works, because Taeyong freezes in seemingly stunned silence, and Jaehyun takes the opportunity to really work the piton into the metaphorical rockface. “If I broke your heart so badly”—he regrets the words the moment they come out but he can’t fucking stop them now—“why did you walk out of that Starbucks? Why didn’t you come back again? Why didn’t you ever call?” He feels winded letting all that out, but already he can feel more bubbling up, insecurities he thought long buried rearing their ugly heads. “Why did you go out with Seulgi—”

That finally seems to unfreeze Taeyong. “She’s my cousin,” he snaps. “Did you know that? Only technically by marriage, but she and Hyukjae-hyung are related—”

Jaehyun had known that, because the press had made no secret of that fact, speculating as to whether or not it still counted as incest. That’s clearly what Taeyong is referencing, but Jaehyun doesn’t let him distract him. “Yeah, so then why did you go out with her—”

“We held hands, Jaehyun-ah!” Taeyong says, throwing both hands in the air. “Maybe I kissed her on the cheek! I was drunk—the love of my life just fucking dumped me, in case you’d forgotten—” His lips thin into an ugly parody of a smile. “You could have called too—”

“I didn’t want to ruin the honeymoon,” Jaehyun interjects, cruelly. “And I did call—but your guard dog let me know just how very unwelcome I was.”

That seems to give Taeyong pause, because he stills again. “My guard dog,” he says.

“Doyoung-hyung?” Jaehyun says. “Believe me I got the message.”

Taeyong only seems to look even more confused. “You spoke to Doyoung?” he says. “When did you speak to Doyoung—when did you call.”

“Christmas,” Jaehyun says, before he can stop himself. “My parents went away together, and my grandmother—” He bites off the words and somehow doesn’t say “I missed you.”

“Christmas,” Taeyong repeats. “Christmas that year. In 2019.”

Jaehyun could just break out in hives. “Yeah. I changed your name in my phone to ‘Royal Bastard’ after that,” he adds, trying to save face, but Taeyong clearly isn’t listening.

“I’ll kill him,” he says. “Doyoung. Fuck anyone who gets in my way. Changmin can take Kyuhyun.”

Jaehyun is momentarily distracted by that image—instinct telling him that Taeyong is probably right, and his bodyguard could. Then he gets his shit together. “You—what—no,” he says. “Don’t kill Doyoung-hyung.”

“December 2019,” Taeyong says, starting to pace the floor of Jaehyun’s bedroom. “December 2019.” He looks at Jaehyun afterwards, as if looking for confirmation again.

“Yes, but—” Jaehyun says, to no avail; Taeyong just keeps talking.

“I will _kill him_ ,” he says. Then he switches tactics, stalking forward until he’s close enough to touch. “Three years,” he says, staring painfully hard into Jaehyun’s eyes. “Three years!” He stabs a finger into the center of Jaehyun’s chest, and Jaehyun just stares down at that point of contact, noting that the pink of Taeyong’s skin looks lovely juxtaposed against the navy blue of Jaehyun’s old KNPU shirt. “I thought you _hated me_ , Jaehyun-ah!” Taeyong finishes.

Now Jaehyun is the one frozen in stunned silence, the pad of Taeyong’s finger burning hot against his chest. At his lack of reaction, Taeyong seems to deflate, his hand dropping away from Jaehyun to land lifelessly at his side. He seems to shrink. He looks like he wants to _cry_.

Jaehyun feels on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Of course, I don’t hate you!” he says—near shouts—finally. His cheeks feel hot and he’s taken an actual step forward, bringing him and Taeyong nearly chest to chest, nose to nose. If he moved a breath closer, he imagines he’d be able to feel the heat coming off of Taeyong’s skin. The Gudetama pajamas are really fucking _adorable_ , which doesn’t help. Jaehyun definitely bought them for Taeyong for Christmas, all those years ago. “Of course I don’t hate you,” Jaehyun says again, almost a whisper.

“No, of course you don’t,” parrots Taeyong, still in that same self-deprecating tone.

Jaehyun snarls and takes that second step. “Of course, I don’t!” he snaps. “From the moment I saw you again all I’ve wanted to do is—” And he manages not to finish the sentence this time only by slamming his jaw closed, teeth narrowly missing his tongue, and instead clacking together painfully.

Taeyong’s eyes have gone stormy. He stands in front of Jaehyun wearing nothing but fucking pajamas, practically wreaking of ozone. “All you’ve wanted to do is what?” he says. “Jaehyun-ah. All you wanted to do is what?”

His mouth is shockingly red—almost like he’s been biting at it, but Jaehyun would have noticed, surely?—and his hair is falling in his eyes. Taeyong’s pupils are blown wide and he can’t seem to keep from staring down at Jaehyun’s mouth and their chests are touching, they’re so close. Jaehyun doesn’t need to answer Taeyong. Taeyong already knows the answer. But he’s clearly waiting for Jaehyun to answer, clearly needs Jaehyun to answer.

“To kiss you,” Jaehyun breathes, and shuts his eyes.

His cellphone rings.

It’s the standard iPhone ringtone, so no one in his contacts, and Jaehyun keeps his eye closed for two more seconds, debating letting it ring. Then he grits his teeth, opens his eyes, and crosses to grab the thing off his bedside table. Unknown number. It’s two-thirty a.m. The thing keeps ringing.

Finally, Taeyong clears his throat. “Are you going to get that?” he says, voice rough and ragged.

Jaehyun wants to hurl his phone right out of the building. Instead he picks up the call, barking, “What?” without any attempt at being polite.

There’s a telling pause from whoever is on the other line—and Jaehyun hopes this is just spam so he can hang up and go back to other things. “Jeong-hyungsanim? This is Han Sungjin,” says a familiar voice, and Jaehyun—pun very much not intended—kisses the rest of his evening goodbye. “You told me to call you if anyone in the royal family so much as breathed?” Jaehyun can practically hear the eye roll in the man’s sentence, but Han Sungjin continues anyway. “Park Chanyeol’s been shot,” the man says. “He’s fine—and so is his sister—but I’m ‘letting you know.’” Jaehyun can hear the quotations. “I looked you up, by the way. Your badge? You’ve only been graduated for three years, and a detective for one.”

Jaehyun winces, then tries to focus on the other part of that sentence. “Thank you,” he says. “You said Park Chanyeol has been shot?”

That seems to halt Taeyong, who up to this point had still been making eyes at Jaehyun from his place in the middle of Jaehyun’s bedroom. But at Jaehyun’s words, Taeyong stiffens—and not in a good way. He stops lounging, stands to his full height, and stares. “Chanyeol-hyung.”

“He’s alive,” Jaehyun rushes to add, and pauses for Sungjin to confirm. His phone beeps with another incoming call, but Jaehyun doesn’t pull it away from his face to see who it is.

“Yes—and his sister—but they’re both a little shaken up. They both saw the gunman.”

Jaehyun does not punch the air. “How good of a look are we talking? Can they give a sketch? Where are they? I’ll head over right now.”

Sungjin rattles off an address that Jaehyun places only a few blocks from the palace in one of the nicer neighborhoods. “Your people are already here,” he says, which explains the other call. (Whoever it is is going to be _pissed_!) “You’re welcome, by the way.” At Jaehyun’s pause Sungjin adds, “I didn’t have to call you—”

“Yes, thank you so much Sungjin-ssi,” rushes Jaehyun, and disconnects the call. He’s missed Johnny, and he sighs. “Taeyong—”

“I’m coming with you,” Taeyong says, arms crossed and looking serious.

Jaehyun knows better than to argue.

* * *

It’s only once he and Taeyong are standing on the receiving end of Johnny Suh’s towering disapproval that Jaehyun starts to rethink agreeing to let Taeyong tag along. Jaehyun took the time to change out of his pajamas and is now wearing jeans and a moderately dressy t-shirt, but Taeyong refused to do the same—and Jaehyun was relieved, honestly, since he wasn’t sure how he felt about Taeyong in his clothes but it wasn’t entirely horrified—and is thus still dressed only in the Gudetama pajamas. At least he’s got shoes.

Although upon stepping through the doorway into Park Chanyeol’s apartment, both of them get handed shoe covers, which only makes the pajamas more apparent. Taeyong is dressed in Gudetama pajamas. At three in the morning. Having shown up uninvited at a crime scene.

Johnny stares at the both of them with utter disdain. “Hi,” he says finally, glancing between the two of them briefly before settling pleasantly on Taeyong. “So I think I owe you an apology—”

Jaehyun grabs Johnny by the arm and yanks before he can go on. “Okay!” he says. “Let’s not do that—look”—Jaehyun drags Johnny away and leans in to whisper—“He showed up at my house half an hour ago; what was I supposed to do? Leave him there?”

Johnny manages to tear his eyes away from the ring Jaehyun has made around his biceps with his fingers. “Yes?” he says. “Yes—or send him _home_ —leave him on the street—anything _other_ than _bring him to an open crime scene_.”

“He’s my cousin,” Taeyong offers, raising a hand and drawing both of their gazes. “If that helps—I could be here for totally non—uh—Jaehyunnie reasons.” He colors almost immediately after speaking, which does nothing to help him save face.

“‘Jaehyunnie reasons,’” repeats Johnny blankly, almost like he can’t believe what it is he’s saying, let alone hearing.

Taeyong lowers his hand, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m just going to—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just turns on his heel and sets off into the apartment, wandering off into who knows where.

Jaehyun watches him go in vague horror, still clutching Johnny. “No, wait,” he tries to say, but Johnny breaks his hold and gets his own before he can continue, pinning Jaehyun in place with more than just hand strength.

“Yah,” Johnny says, with very narrowed, angry eyes. “Jeong Jaehyun.” Jaehyun winces. “What in the fuck?”

Jaehyun _winces_. “He really did just come over uninvited,” he mutters.

Johnny doesn’t seem very impressed. “And what, you decided you’d bring him to an active crime scene?”

Jaehyun yanks his arm free, which hurts, and then rubs at the skin there with one hand. “Chanyeol _is_ his cousin,” he mutters. “Third cousin, or whatever.”

“Uh-huh,” says Johnny. “He seems really broken up about it.” He points, and Jaehyun follows his gaze to Taeyong, standing in a corner looking supremely cowed, as a woman in a suit holds a phone out in front of him. At Jaehyun’s look, Johnny tilts his head. “Bodyguard,” he says. “For Park Yoora. The woman is _terrifying_. I took her statement; in case you decide to actually do your job—”

“Where are the Parks?” interrupts Jaehyun, standing to his full height and looking, noting for the first time that Park Chanyeol’s apartment might actually be nicer than Hong Jaesung’s, and it’s not on the top floor.

“The kitchen,” Johnny says, sighing, but moving to lead the way. “The bullet went right by Chanyeol—grazed him right along the forehead—and there was a lot of blood.”

They round the corner to find Park Chanyeol seated at a large center table of a very nice kitchen, sighing repeatedly as people fuss over the cut on his forehead. His sister stands beside him very clearly hovering, and every so often Park Yoora will say something—flutter nervous hands—and Chanyeol will sigh louder and shift enough to get yelled at. Jaehyun looks between their shiny, perfect hair and matching, stick-out ears, and reminds himself that these are Lee Youngmi’s children—Lee Youngmi, the only sister of the king. Aside from the princesses, the Parks are the media’s darlings, and this—an attempted murder of the Passion Prince himself—is definitely going to make the news.

Then Jaehyun trips on his way into the room, and both of the Parks turn to face him, identical expressions of suspicion on their lovely faces. Yoora is the first to break character, her features morphing into honest joy, and for two seconds Jaehyun thinks she’s looking at him like that, or maybe Johnny, until her mouth forms the words, “Taeyong-ah!” and Jaehyun’s expression only doesn’t falter through force of will.

Yoora steps forward to take Taeyong by both hands, dragging him out from where he’d apparently been lurking behind Jaehyun and Johnny, and then across the kitchen so that she can continue to guard over her brother, while doing her best to coddle her cousin.

“You came,” says Yoora.

“Uh… I was in the neighborhood,” Taeyong says, and gets a snort out of Chanyeol.

When Jaehyun looks at him, he finds the man staring back at him, one eye on the proceedings happening around his temple, but the other clearly accessing the new addition of law enforcement. Feeling compelled, Jaehyun settles his badge more clearly against his belt loop. Then he glances at the paramedics, around the kitchen, and finally—blessedly—locates some of his own team. There were shots fired so there are people from forensics there to gather evidence, and as Jaehyun watches, a kid who can’t have been out of school for more than a week appears to pry a bullet out of the wall beside the television, looking pleased. Someone else rushes forward with an evidence bag and the woman in the suit steps forward as if to do her own inspection. She doesn’t get far—is turned away by an equally young-looking tech with long hair who refuses to risk the chain of custody—and Jaehyun is pleased. Until he turns back around in time to hear Chanyeol say, “And what is he, the rookie?” while making terrible, terrible eye contact.

Jaehyun never socialized with either of the Park children. He never had an opportunity to even meet the Lees—the closest he’d ever gotten to Lee Sunny being all those times he slept under the same royal roof as her. But despite that, Jaehyun knew that Taeyong and Chanyeol were close. Closer than Taeyong had been with the Hongs, anyway. Taeyong had mostly spoken about Chanyeol’s best friend Byun Baekhyun, whose father invented things for some company or another, and who was utterly hilarious, if Taeyong’s laughter was anything to go by. So there no was no reason to assume that Park Chanyeol would know Jaehyun—beyond recognizing he was there with the rest of the police to catch the man who’d shot him, of course.

Still, Jaehyun feels scrutinized. Still, Jaehyun wonders. He shoots what he hopes is a sly glance at Taeyong, but Taeyong isn’t looking back, caught up in yet another talking to—this time from Yoora. The only other person to look at is Johnny, and he’s got his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised again. So Jaehyun turns back to Chanyeol and puts on his most winning smile.

“Chanyeol-ssi,” he says. “Hi. What can you tell me about what happened tonight?”

Chanyeol shoots Johnny his own look, almost as if daring him to not have Jaehyun’s back, but despite everything, Johnny does, so Chanyeol just has to sigh again, and tell Jaehyun the story. He and his sister had been going out, he’d forgotten his wallet and run back into the apartment—alone—where he’d been set upon by their gunman—“tall, pretty, tiny, tiny head,” was all Chanyeol had to describe him as, offhand, and Jaehyun comforted himself with the knowledge that both he and his sister would be sitting down with a sketch artist sometime soon. The gunman proceeded to monologue at Chanyeol for a bit, before Yoora had gotten worried by how long Chanyeol was taking and came in after him, opening the door and hitting their murderer with the back of it.

So the man’s shot had missed, Chanyeol had bled profusely, and Yoora’s bodyguard—the impressive suit lady from before—had taken off after the man but lost him somewhere in the alleyways outside. She’d been particularly angry about the entire situation, and clearly blamed herself to the point where she was overreaching, but nobody was willing to go against the wishes of a princess, and the princess in question was very clear that her people were not to be rebuffed.

All in all not a horrible dead end of information, and certainly worth the two-thirty a.m. call. Well. Jaehyun risks a glance in Taeyong’s direction, taking in the pajamas, the tousled hair, the lack of socks. Maybe not worth it, but good news regardless.

“Are you sure he’s not a rookie?” Chanyeol says, in time for the apartment door to bang open again, and Byun Baekhyun to come storming in, kicking off his shoes and chucking his car keys down onto a table.

“Park Chanyeol!” Baekhyun says and makes his way over to do his own bit of fussing. “You bastard!”

Chanyeol submits to Baekhyun’s scrutiny with far less sighing than he had everyone else’s, but before Jaehyun can do more than note that, Taeyong has disengaged from Yoora and come back over to stand next to him, looking shockingly small.

“Hey,” Taeyong says quietly. “I should probably go home—Changmin’s worried.” He smiles briefly, a barely-there quirk to his pretty, pretty lips that only makes Jaehyun want to hug him. “You should have heard him over the phone,” continues Taeyong. “If words could kill…” He breaks off and shudders, rubbing at his arms. The pajamas can’t be very warm, and even though it’s summer, Chanyeol’s apartment is near freezing. Jaehyun should have tried harder to get him to borrow clothes. “Anyway, I should go home,” Taeyong says again. “Uh—”

“Do you need a ride?” Jaehyun interrupts, ignoring the fact that other people can hear them. Other people can see them, and out of the corner of his eyes, Jaehyun can see Johnny pulling faces.

Taeyong’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “What, up two floors?” he says. “No, Jaehyunnie, but thanks.” He smiles, laugh lines showing, and says something more, but Jaehyun isn’t listening. He’s too busy following the joke out to its logical conclusion.

“Wait,” Jaehyun says finally. “Do you _live in this apartment building_?” It’s possible he’s spoken way too fucking loud, because it feels like everyone’s eyes are suddenly on him, but Jaehyun only has eyes for Taeyong, who stares back with his lips parted.

Finally, Taeyong licks at them and speaks. “Er, yeah. Why?”

“You,” says Jaehyun, all the panic and nightmares swimming to the forefront. “The killer _has broken in before_ —”

Taeyong blinks. “My security is state of the art?”

“So was mine,” offers Chanyeol mildly, and Jaehyun is thankful. He points, not really feeling like anything else needs to be said.

“Well, where else am I supposed to stay?” says Taeyong. “A hotel? I am _not_ moving back into the palace.”

“You can stay with me,” says Jaehyun, not really thinking, and Taeyong goes abruptly silent. Jaehyun goes silent too, the words finally catching up with him. Oh shit. What is he _doing_? He opens his mouth to rescind the offer, only Taeyong beats him to it.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay with you.”

“Just until we catch this guy,” Jaehyun hears himself say.

“Just until we catch this guy,” Taeyong agrees.

“You don’t even have a guest room,” Johnny says faintly, but neither of them pays him any attention.

“So, it’s settled,” Jaehyun says.

“It’s settled,” Taeyong agrees. “Baekhyun-hyung!”

Baekhyun finally seems to notice Taeyong, turning away from Chanyeol with what looks like honest surprise. “Taeyongie—”

“Take care of this idiot. Jaehyunnie and I are leaving.” Taeyong jabs a thumb in Chanyeol’s direction, and gets some sputtering response, but Jaehyun is too busy staring straight at Taeyong, because the moment he looks away, he’s going to start to rethink all the poor life choices that have led him to this moment, and possibly burst into flames. What the fuck has he _done_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, see you all next week, wherein _things_ shall be occurring. Namely, tropes I was shocked I had never written before.
> 
> Share this fic: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835)  
> Read the primer: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/royalau)


	6. Six

Jaehyun really doesn’t have a guest room. Jaehyun only has his fucking couch, and he can’t let Taeyong sleep on it, because Taeyong is a fucking prince. Kind of. In a very loose sense of the word—look, Taeyong’s official title might not be “Wangseja” but he’s still in line for the throne—still in line to rule the fucking _country_ —so it’d probably be tantamount to _treason_ if Jaehyun made Taeyong sleep on his couch. A sin worthy of being thrown in prison or—given that Korea doesn’t have anything equivalent to the Tower of London—maybe dangled off a very high building. Maybe… set upon by wild… dogs… it’s possible Jaehyun is so tired he isn’t thinking straight.

But still, Jaehyun knows he can’t let an heir to the throne sleep on his fucking couch, so he lifts his chin, thrusts back his shoulders, and resigns himself to back pain for the foreseeable future. Although, surely once Chanyeol and Yoora meet with a sketch artist, they’ll catch the guy who’s after them all instantly, and then Jaehyun will no longer be forced to cohabitate with his ex. So maybe back pain is only a given for his immediate future—only for this one night. Jaehyun should stop standing awkwardly in the middle of his doorway, though.

“You can take the bed,” Jaehyun says, in near unison with Taeyong.

Of course Taeyong says, “I’ll take the couch,” so it’s not the exact same thing, but the sentiment is similar, and they end up staring blankly at each other for a few seconds the moment they’re done speaking anyway. Taeyong has very pretty eyelashes, Jaehyun can’t help but notice.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch,” Jaehyun says finally—one of them has to break the silence, and also, Jaehyun is the host.

Taeyong’s beautiful eyebrows raise. “Oh, I’m not?”

Jaehyun narrows his eyes. “If this is a prince thing—”

“If it were a prince thing, don’t you think I’d be insisting you sleep on the couch?” Taeyong steps further into the apartment, taking off his shoes and setting down the bag of clothes he’d haphazardly gathered together before they’d left his and Chanyeol’s apartment complex. He looks exhausted, and he isn’t even really bothering with proper, princely posture anymore—and Jaehyun hates that he remembers that, all those moments spent teasing Taeyong and trying to ruin his perfectly unflappable composure with tickling and other less innocent things. He’s also still holding a flower pot in his hands, and as Jaehyun watches, he crosses the room with resolute purpose so that he can set it down on Jaehyun’s kitchen counter.

“I can’t believe you brought that thing into my apartment,” Jaehyun says darkly, kicking off his own shoes and sliding into his house slippers. He reaches behind himself to make sure the front door is fully closed; it is, and Jaehyun’s shoulders relax, only to tense right back up when Taeyong’s Venus flytrap chooses that exact moment to look at Jaehyun. Or not look. The thing doesn’t actually have eyes—or a brain. It’s just there in Jaehyun’s kitchen acting semi-sentient.

To make matters worse, Taeyong slaps a hand to the center of his Gudetama-clad chest. “How dare you,” he says. “Don’t be mean to Hank.”

Jaehyun kind of can’t believe that Lee Taeyong, twenty-second in line to the throne and one of Korea’s most eligible royal bachelors—netizen’s words, _not fucking Jaehyun’s—_ has a Venus flytrap named Hank. Only, of course he does, because Kim Doyoung gave it to him for his twenty-sixth birthday, thereby imbuing the thing with enough significance that Taeyong couldn’t bear to be parted with it and had to take it with him for his stay in Jaehyun’s apartment. Preposterous—never mind that the thing is alive and probably would have needed sun and/or watering, and Taeyong would have needed to bring it for those reasons alone. The thing is fucking creepy, and Jaehyun is going to find a way to arrest Doyoung—even if it’s just for inadvertently giving Jaehyun nightmares.

“Jaehyunnie,” says Taeyong, with a horrifying amount of concern. “You’re not afraid of the Venus flytrap, are you—”

“I’m not afraid of the Venus flytrap!” Jaehyun shouts, even as some tiny part of him starts hollering “plants shouldn’t have a brain!” on repeat. Jaehyun knows that’s not the case; he looked it up when Taeyong first handed him the thing, vanishing into his fancy apartment in search of clothes without a care in the world for how he was leaving Jaehyun alone with a fucking—murderous plant! ( _Carnivorous_ , Jaehyun’s police detective brain can’t help but point out. _Carnivorous and brainless and eyeless and mostly operating on response and reflex—not at all sentient, idiot_ —)

“Okay, if you’re sure,” says Taeyong dubiously, and then _walks away from it_ —leaving Jaehyun alone! Unprotected! Still (apparently) embarrassingly sleep-deprived!—and straight towards the couch.

This ends up being a blessing, because Jaehyun abandons his panic when he remembers their earlier conversation topic rather abruptly. “You’re not sleeping on the couch,” he says again, as Taeyong picks up one of the throw pillows and gives it a tiny fluff. “I can’t let you sleep on the couch.”

Taeyong pauses with the pillow in the air, only one brow raised this time. “Oh, you can’t _let me_ ,” he says.

Jaehyun has an involuntary flashback to all the other things Taeyong has said to him in that particular tone of voice, and comes to the awful conclusion that any and all attempts at maintaining a professional distance are likely to be thwarted by the simple fact that he and Taeyong—ex-boyfriends—are going to be cohabitating for who knows how long. They hadn’t even done that when they were dating! Jaehyun is so completely—not at all pleasantly—screwed!

Taeyong is still staring at him—staring at Jaehyun and practically _daring_ him to respond.

“Yes, because it would be rude,” says Jaehyun finally, not rising to the bait. “Since I don’t have a guest room. You can take the bed. I’ll change the sheets.”

Taeyong swings the pillow dramatically through the air again, causing a great gust of wind that blows Jaehyun’s bangs off his forehead and reminds him that he put his contacts in before they rushed over to Chanyeol’s. God, his eyes sting.

“Jaehyun, I’m a guest in your home, I’m not going to take your bed,” Taeyong says. “The couch is fine.”

“The couch is not fine,” Jaehyun says, shaking his head a little to get his hair to lie flat and not reaching up to straighten it like some sort of idiot. “You take the bed—I insist.”

Taeyong makes to the fluff the pillow again and Jaehyun growls, stepping quickly towards him so that he can grab it—only he and Taeyong collide, hands touching overtop the fabric, and now they’re standing in the center of Jaehyun’s living room each holding onto a pillow like a story out of the Bible. But there’s no Solomon to come cut the thing in half; it’s just Jaehyun and Taeyong, tired and pale and turned practically into _statues_ over just touching fucking _hands_. Screwed. Completely and utterly _screwed_.

Taeyong is the first to pull back this time, stepping away and rubbing awkwardly at the skin of his wrist. “Sorry,” he says.

Jaehyun just looks down at the pillow, mind a little blank, and then shuts his mouth. He hadn’t realized he’d opened it. “Uh, no problem,” he says. He almost wishes they were still yelling at each other, because even anger would have been preferable to whatever the hell this is. “You’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

A muscle in Taeyong’s jaw twitches and Jaehyun tells himself he doesn’t think it’s hot. “Fine,” Taeyong says. “I won’t sleep on the couch.” Jaehyun feels vindicated for all of one second. “Your bed is big enough for the both of us—it’s a queen, right?” Taeyong doesn’t even wait for Jaehyun to respond, just pivots and then heads straight for the bedroom.

“Hey, wait—” Jaehyun drops the pillow and nearly trips in his haste to chase Taeyong down, but it’s no use. When he gets to his bedroom, Taeyong’s already made himself at home—has settled himself up against the pillows and is staring up at Jaehyun with a surprising amount of confidence, given the situation. He’s turned the lamp on and got both of his arms crossed behind his head and he’s _smirking_ , mouth turned somehow even more sinful. He’s wearing fucking _Gudetama_ pajamas. He should look _ridiculous_.

Jaehyun stares, and stares, and _stares_ , and then decides it’s four in the fucking morning, and he cannot be bothered. “Sure,” he says. “We can share. But if you hog the blankets, I will kick you out.”

“Oh, Jaehyunnie I wouldn’t dream,” says Taeyong, but Jaehyun just turns to head to the bathroom, flipping him off American style. Johnny would be proud.

He takes out his contacts, sighs, and brushes his teeth again, and when he comes back, Taeyong appears to have actually fallen asleep, eyes shut and chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. Jaehyun sets his contact lens case down on his bedside table and stares at him, telling himself that it’s just because he’s remembered the thought from earlier, about how Taeyong hadn’t been wearing his glasses. Jaehyun hopes Taeyong brought them with them. Jaehyun thinks Taeyong _really_ shouldn’t sleep wearing his contacts. His fingers hover on the switch to his lamp, heart for some reason pounding.

“Are you going to sleep, or just stare at me like a creep, Jaehyun-ah?” says Taeyong dryly, and Jaehyun nearly brains himself on the lamp.

“You are a guest in my house,” he says hotly, ears feeling like they’re on fire, and then scrambles into the bed and under the covers, making sure to keep his back to Taeyong with no part of them touching. But then that feels childish, and Jaehyun hates sleeping on his right side anyway, so he rolls over, careful not to make eye contact. He needn’t have worried, since his eyes haven’t adjusted to the sudden dark, so he sees nothing. He can still hear Taeyong breathing, even as far away across the bed as he is. “You didn’t used to be this presumptuous,” Jaehyun can’t help but add, mostly under his breath and not trying to be serious. Already, he can feel the threat of sleep weighing him down, the exhaustion of the night’s events starting to take their toll. Jaehyun is warm, and comfortable, and he’s always slept better when there was someone else there that he could match his breathing to. That it’s Taeyong—that some part of Jaehyun will always remember that Taeyong was the first person he thought he’d want to spend his life with—really doesn’t help.

In no time at all, Jaehyun is pleasantly and entirely in dreamland, so he misses it when Taeyong moves, rolling back over onto his side. He doesn’t hear Taeyong speak; doesn’t feel when he reaches out almost as if to touch Jaehyun, and says, more of a whisper than anything else, “It’s only because I don’t want to lose you again, Jaehyun-ah. You broke my heart, but you did say I broke yours too.”

* * *

The first thing Jaehyun becomes aware of is that he’s warm—almost unbearably so. This is not ultimately unexpected. Jaehyun generally runs hot, which is why he tends to sleep shirtless in the summer. Only clearly this night he hasn’t, since the second thing he becomes aware of is the way his shirt is sticking to his back, despite being bunched up around his nipples. The third thing is more warmth—the searing heat of something pressing right against the center of Jaehyun’s spine. It’s nice, whatever it is, and Jaehyun spends the first precious few seconds of waking just basking in it, marveling in the wonder of being held. And then he freezes, what seems like every atom of his being turning to stone, as the reality of the situation sets in.

Jaehyun is being held.

Jaehyun is tucked in right up underneath Taeyong’s chin, head, chest, an arm, his right hand, even—fuck— _his right thigh_ , draped across Taeyong’s own. Somewhere in the middle of the night his body abandoned the pretense of them staying far away from each other on opposite sides of the bed, so now Jaehyun is fucking _cuddling_ , curled up across Taeyong’s chest like some sort of opportunistic cat, or an octopus. Granted, Taeyong is sort of holding him too—Taeyong’s hand is the source of the heat in the middle of Jaehyun’s back—but Jaehyun is still clearly the aggressor _and_ the little spoon.

It’s embarrassing.

It’s horrifying.

It’s… nice, honestly.

Jaehyun can’t remember the last time he felt this refreshed when waking up to the sound of his phone. Because that’s his phone, he realizes, once some of the panic abates enough to let him concentrate. It’s wailing at almost full volume, and it’s a testament to how important the case is that Jaehyun didn’t put it on silent the moment he got off work Friday night.

Fuck.

Jaehyun should get up.

Jaehyun should answer the phone.

Jaehyun can’t remember how to move, hyperaware of the fact that he’s hooked one of his legs around Taeyong’s and buried his face in the hollow of Taeyong’s throat.

His phone abruptly stops ringing, only to start right back up.

Jaehyun fights the urge to start laughing. Under him, Taeyong shifts. Jaehyun thinks, _He’s awake and this is the end_ , but nothing else happens. Taeyong just lies still, hand still resting right in between Jaehyun’s shoulder blades, chest barely even moving as he breathes.

The phone—terribly—is still ringing.

“Uh… are you going to get that?” says Taeyong finally, voice coming from somewhere above Jaehyun’s head. His speech ruffles Jaehyun’s hair, and Jaehyun can’t help but shudder. He tells himself it’s just because he’s remembering the last time Taeyong said those words not even twenty-four hours prior, and not because of the… cuddling. “Jaehyun?” Jaehyun really should move, but fuck if he knows the proper way to react. “Jae… hyun?” Taeyong sounds hesitant, but he hasn’t moved either. “Should _I_ get that? _Can_ I get that? I’m not going to get… arrested?”

Jaehyun can’t help but snort, breathing coming out directly into Taeyong’s Gudetama pajamas, and Taeyong abruptly freezes. His hand retreats. The bit of leg that Jaehyun is—once again—intimately aware of, tenses. With a supreme amount of dignity, Jaehyun sits up in bed, disengages from Taeyong, and slides to the edge of the bed so that he can reach his phone. “You’re not going to get arrested for answering my phone, Taeyong-hyung,” he mutters, aware that his face _may be on fire_ , and then picks up his phone—deciding it’s a blessing that the thing is ringing.

“Hello—”

“Jaehyun, thank God, I thought I was going to have to wake Taeil-hyung—”

It’s Jiwoo, and Jaehyun hauls the phone away from his face to squint down at caller ID, noting that it’s not `Work` calling, and is instead `That Asshole Kim Jiwoo`. “Jiwoo—”

“I just got to the office and like no one else is here—”

Jaehyun pulls the phone away to note that it is in fact barely seven in the morning on a Saturday and groans, remembering that he only got back to sleep at four a.m. Across the bed, in the space that Jaehyun is rather pointedly pretending not to be aware of, Taeyong appears to be moving—sitting up himself and twisting to look curiously at Jaehyun. His hair’s all ruffled and messy and one of his shirt buttons has come undone, the slope of one pale shoulder coming out to play. There’s what appears to be an embarrassing amount of drool somewhere around that undone button, and Jaehyun drags the back of a finger along the corner of his mouth in rapidly growing mortification.

Jiwoo is still talking. “—anyway, I recognize the guy from Chanyeol-ssi’s sketch,” Jaehyun hears him say, and the horrors of the night before vanish. He drops his hand, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and doesn’t even notice how cold his floor is.

“You what?”

Jiwoo doesn’t seem at all fazed by Jaehyun’s tone. “The guy from the sketch,” he says. “I recognized him—he was at Hong Jaesung’s party; I interviewed him.”

Jaehyun lets that sentence wash over him, lifting a hand to still Taeyong, who’s lifted onto his knees and looks about two seconds from asking for permission to use the shower. “You recognized him,” he repeats. “The guy who attacked Chanyeol. And Andy. And Taemin.”

Taeyong’s mouth closes immediately, and he moves out of the bed and into the living room in search of his own phone.

Jaehyun stands as well, finally becoming aware of the early morning cold, and makes his way towards his dresser for clothes. There will be no early morning shower for Jaehyun, but maybe he can squeeze in brushing his teeth.

“Yes,” Jiwoo is saying. “His name’s Park Minchul.” There’s the sound of clicking that has to be him on the computer, and Jaehyun gives himself a quick shake. “No priors, no connection to any of the victims, and the account he gave of the party was pretty standard.”

“But you recognize him,” Jaehyun says.

“For sure,” Jiwoo says. “And the sketch matches—I can send you a picture—”

“No need.” Jaehyun shimmies into some jeans and pulls on socks. “Have you called Byoungjun-hyung?” He sticks the phone between his shoulder and his cheek and does up his fly.

“Not yet.” Jiwoo almost sounds embarrassed, and Jaehyun lets the fact that Kim Jiwoo—his least favorite coworker and probably nemesis Kim Jiwoo—has called him first. “I kind of… panicked.”

Taeyong pokes his head back in looking significantly more put together, no longer in pajamas, and brandishing what looks like an empty mug. _Coffee?_ he mouths, and Jaehyun shakes his head—they don’t have time.

“Right, well, I’ll be right there,” Jaehyun says. “I’ll call Johnny and Taeil—I’m assuming Chanyeol is at the hospital?”

“Actually, he’s still at his place under lock and key,” Jiwoo says, sounding apologetic. “I know—but he insisted, and he is technically eighth in line to the throne.”

Jaehyun nods, thinking of Donghae.

Taeyong reappears this time with what looks to be a teabag, and Jaehyun waves him off. They don’t have time for tea either, but Jaehyun didn’t even know he had tea. “Hold on a second?”

Jaehyun doesn’t wait for Jiwoo to respond before dropping his phone onto the bed so that he can strip out of his pajama shirt. That gets him a noise and a much less graceful retreat, Taeyong breaking his silence seemingly without conscious thought. In fact, Taeyong sounds like he’s walked into several walls and maybe the couch, the latter warranting a shouted, “I’m fine, and so is Hank!”

Jaehyun could have done without the reminder about his new carnivorous roommate, but he swallows his automatic reaction in favor of getting into a clean shirt. Once that’s done, he picks up the phone. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“Who was that?” asks Jiwoo after a mild pause.

Jaehyun mentally swears. “Nobody—I’m on my way, thanks for calling. You should also call Byoungjun-hyung. Have him get started on a warrant to search Minchul’s place.” He pauses, then adds, “Uh—good job.”

“Thanks.” That sounds a lot more like the rude, unnecessarily aggressive coworker Jaehyun remembers, and so he feels safe in hanging up, tossing the phone back onto the bed and fighting the urge to stick his head into his closet so that he can just scream. After that, he puts on his shirt, puts on his glasses, and picks up his phone. He’ll call Johnny and Taeil on the way, assuming Jiwoo doesn’t get there first.

When he comes out of the room, Taeyong is fully dressed and standing awkwardly in front of Jaehyun’s coffee maker, pointedly staring the thing down. The Venus flytrap is exactly where he put it prior and doesn’t so much as move when Jaehyun enters. That’s good. The adrenaline high of a lead is just starting to wane, and who knows what Jaehyun could do.

“I’ve got to go to work,” Jaehyun explains to the back of his guest, just in case that wasn’t clear. “There’s been a breakthrough on the case.”

Taeyong doesn’t turn around. “Oh?” He even manages to sound unaffected, and Jaehyun wants to shake him, and kick him out, and—still, always, forever—shove him back into bed and kiss him for hours.

“Yes, we IDed the guy who attacked Chanyeol and Yoora.”

Taeyong whirls back around, coffee forgotten. “You have?”

“Yes.” Jaehyun grabs his wallet and his keys, resigning himself to driving to work on a Saturday. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be back.”

Taeyong turns off the coffee maker. “I’ll come with you,” he says.

That gives Jaehyun pause. He’s got no shortage of reasons why this is a terrible idea, the first of course being the fact that Taeyong isn’t actually a detective, but when faced with all 174 centimeters of him this early on a fucking _Saturday,_ he just… can’t.

“Fine,” he hears himself say. “But no _talking_. And. No bodyguards.” He can’t imagine putting Changmin in the same room with Byoungjun-hyung, especially given the fact that palace security let Andy Lee die on their watch.

Taeyong mimes zipping his lips, almost tripping in his haste to come to Jaehyun’s heels. He’s like an overexuberant puppy, bright eyed and metaphorical tail practically wagging. That’s a lot for this early on a Saturday too. It’s a wonder Jaehyun hasn’t exploded into a bunch of tiny pieces.

* * *

If anyone is unimpressed by the fact that Jaehyun has brought royal backup, no one mentions it. Byoungjun-hyung comes out of the apartment with a positive ID from Chanyeol and Yoora, who both looked over a photo array and each pointed out this Park Minchul. He delegates, sending Jiwoo and Johnny back to the precinct, himself across town with Jiwoo’s affidavit to find a judge to issue a search warrant (Jaehyun is for once glad to be the newbie and not team leader), and Jaehyun and Taeil preemptively to Minchul’s apartment. They’ll need the warrant to search the place, of course, but they can still sit outside the building in case Minchul decides to make things easy for them and shows up. (Jaehyun’s not holding his breath.)

Taeyong doesn’t say a single word for the whole spiel—just acts like he’s only here for Chanyeol and Yoora. To his credit, Yoora pokes her head out of the apartment and plays up being happy to see her cousin, and Byoungjun-hyung is either done with the royal half of the equation or honestly doesn’t care. Regardless, by the time Taeil and Jaehyun have been given the go-ahead to search the address on Minchul’s driver’s license, Taeyong has been sitting silently in the backseat of the car for the entire time, and Jaehyun has gotten used to getting away with it.

Which is why he nearly trips on his way to the apartment building door when Taeil says, “So why have you got a royal shadow, suddenly, Jaehyun-ah? You didn’t get married in secret, or anything, yeah?”

They had to wait for over an hour, and in that time, both of Jaehyun’s legs fell asleep; if asked, he’s saying _that’s_ why he nearly falls on his face. Not the… suggestion of marriage.

Taeil reaches out a hand to steady Jaehyun, which is more than Taeyong does.

“No,” says Jaehyun, and brushes non-existent dust from his clothes. “Taeyong-hyung is just staying with me until further notice.”

Taeil grabs the door to the building and pulls it open, all still while holding Jaehyun’s arm. Jaehyun shakes him off, flushing. “Is Taeyong in danger?” Taeil’s eyes flick briefly to Taeyong, but Taeyong seems to care even less than Byoungjun-hyung had, and walks into the building without pause.

“Well—” They reach the front desk, where the man working there immediately recognizes Taeyong, and for the next few seconds, Jaehyun has to watch the guy cycle through what has to be at least five different emotions, ranging from shock at seeing anyone from the royal family, shock at how pretty Taeyong is, and then, almost amusingly, _panic_ about having thought about how pretty Taeyong is.

After only a moment’s pause, Taeyong steps forward to take the lead.

Jaehyun is not at all turned on and mostly stunned, but Taeil is utterly unbothered. “That still doesn’t explain why he’s here,” he tells Jaehyun, as if their conversation had simply never stopped.

“You try telling him no,” Jaehyun hisses back, as the front desk man throws his head back and laughs unnecessarily loudly at something Taeyong’s said. It’s unprofessional, but he steps back a few paces in the hope that Taeyong will be too far away to hear them.

Taeil seems to take that as an invitation. “Because for some reason you can’t? I’d be happy to—”

Jaehyun grabs him by the arm. “Hyung—”

Taeil just stares right back at him, clearly unimpressed.

“Minchul lives on the tenth floor,” Taeyong says, appearing in front of them and seeming unaware of the tension. “He hasn’t been home in a while, though. Woojin says he hasn’t seen him in weeks.”

“Woojin?” says Jaehyun, once it becomes clear Taeil isn’t going to speak.

“Ah, the guy at the front desk?” Taeyong rubs a palm along the back of his neck and shyly ducks his head. “Sorry—should I have not—”

“It’s fine,” Jaehyun says, eyeing Taeil. “Thank you.” After a beat, he steps pointedly on Taeil’s foot.

Taeil takes the hit without even flinching. “Yes,” he says. “Thank you.” He pauses. “I don’t suppose you asked for the building manager? Or security?”

Taeyong looks at him with large eyes.

“In case he’s—in case Minchul’s not there,” Jaehyun explains. “We’re not going to kick in the door. That would be—”

“Hot,” mutters Taeyong, presumably without thinking, because he flushes. Then Jaehyun flushes and Taeil smiles between the two of them like some sort of horror doll from a film.

“—impossible,” Jaehyun finishes, thinking of doors. “Security will have an all access code.”

“Right,” says Taeyong, still blushing. “Uh, no, I didn’t ask for them.”

“That’s fine. I’ll do it. It is _my job_ , after all.” Taeil steps around Taeyong to reach the front desk, badge already out and into business mode. Jaehyun stays behind with Taeyong, trying to get his face under control. Luckily for him, it seems Taeyong is in much the same boat, so the two of them get to stand awkwardly while Taeil updates Woojin about the gravity of the situation, photo of the warrant up on his screen. Jaehyun opens his mouth to speak no less than three times, but all of those times he thinks better of it. What would he even say? _Sorry my friends aren’t idiots who are still all the way in love with you and, actually, you probably shouldn’t keep tagging along to potential crime scenes, p.s. I think you should go back to your apartment._ Jaehyun could never.

Thankfully, Taeil finishes before Jaehyun can work up the courage to even try. “Security will meet us there,” Taeil says, thankfully only looking between Jaehyun and Taeyong for a quick second, before addressing Taeyong. “You said it’s the tenth floor?” He gestures towards the elevators. “After you.”

Taeyong glances at Jaehyun for a moment, and then turns to head off towards the elevators.

Jaehyun goes to grab Taeil. “Listen, Hyung—”

“The only reason I’m going along with your little charade is the fact that we’ve been friends for the past six years,” mutters Taeil, but he doesn’t pull back his arm. The both of them watch Taeyong’s back for a second before starting forward to follow. “Also, the guy was really, really helpful—and talkative—so I guess the royal welcome is a little convenient.”

A group of women step out of the elevator and they all move to the side, and Jaehyun notes that not one but all three of them recognize Taeyong, smiling at him quickly and then gathering into a ring of gossiping heads before they’re even past Woojin at the front desk.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Jaehyun says, maybe a little sharper than needed, but follows Taeyong inside.

“Yeah,” agrees Taeil, pushing the button for the floor and then the button to close the doors. “You’re taking it a lot better than I would have thought.”

Jaehyun glances at him, honestly confused. “Taking what well?” he whispers, avoiding looking anywhere towards Taeyong.

“The royal welcome,” says Taeil loudly, with no such qualms. “You’re doing much better with it than I thought—maybe you’re ready to be a princess after all. I’ll have to tell Johnny you’re going to steal his crown.” The doors spring open with a woman’s dulcet tones announcing their arrival at the tenth floor, and Taeil walks right out of them with a spring in his step.

Taeyong and Jaehyun stay put for another two seconds, before Taeil’s statement catches up with Jaehyun and he—blushes, goes red, feel faint, hates his life—points a threatening finger at Taeyong, snarling, “Don’t you _dare_ say anything—”

Taeyong just stares back at him, cheeks back to being faintly pink, which honestly just makes things worse. He’s cute. He’s sweet. Jaehyun needs to get out of this elevator—and situation—immediately.

He deflates, mutters, “Never mind,” under his breath like the coward he very clearly is and follows Taeil out of the elevator.

They end up needing security after all, since Minchul isn’t home. In fact, upon entering, it becomes clear that Minchul hasn’t been home for more than just a few weeks. The place is spotless to the point that even Taeyong comments on it, but it’s dusty, reeking of disuse, and when Taeil opens the fridge with a careful, gloved hand, he finds it empty.

“Great,” Taeil says, sighing. He runs his fingers along the inside of the fridge and comes up with dust there as well. Jaehyun pauses in his own examination of the man’s rather impressive collection of wine to head for the bathroom.

“No toiletries,” he calls, pulling open the cabinets with his own carefully gloved hands. He can hear Taeyong starting to make small talk with the guys from security out in the hall, and for some reason that only serves to make him more anxious. Taeyong’s alone and exposed and they’re at the guy’s _apartment_ —but Taeyong isn’t a target, clearly, and Jaehyun would do well to remember that.

Park Minchul’s bed is made so precisely it’s almost obscene—military corners with not a linen out of place. Jaehyun waits for Taeil to come up behind him before voicing that.

“Was he in the army?” Jaehyun asks.

Taeil consults his phone. “He joined right out of college in 2016,” he says, then frowns. “He’s been on medical leave since May of last year, though. No further information offered.”

Jaehyun thinks about the fact that Park Minchul has somehow managed to kill three members of the royal family and wound two more and finds that that tracks.

Taeil sticks out a hand, holding a bottle of banana milk. “The sell by date is May twenty-sixth—the King’s birthday, and—”

“When Eunsung died,” Jaehyun finishes with him, horror icing his veins.

“Yeah.” Taeil lowers his hand. “It was the only thing in the fridge.”

Jaehyun keeps staring at the perfectly made bed and swallows. “He’s playing with us.”

“He’s dangerous,” Taeil adds, even though that’s a given.

Jaehyun claps his hands together. “Right,” he says. “You call and update Byoungjun-hyung, I’ll get Taeyongie back to my place.” If Taeil notices the familiarity Jaehyun affords Taeyong he doesn’t mention it, only inclines his head in acknowledgement of the intelligence of the plan. “And then he can coordinate with palace security.” Jaehyun licks his lips. “I’m assuming they’ll want to put all of the immediate family on even more of a lock down.”

Taeil’s lips quirk. “That’s bound to piss Chanyeol off.”

Jaehyun finds himself smiling back as well, but then he gathers himself and goes to do his job.

* * *

Unfortunately, the fruits of their country-wide manhunt aren’t very plentiful in the next forty-eight hours. Park Minchul’s face gets plastered on every television, computer screen, and print newspaper. Jiwoo and Jaehyun comb the security cameras from the night of all the murders and manage to put Minchul at Eunsung’s party as well.

On Monday they bring in a rather tearful Lee Doyeon (and entourage) to make another positive ID, and Jung-team jangnim from Missing Persons shows up to ask for her autograph. For some reason, Taeyong is part of the entourage, and there’s a surprisingly awkward moment between Jung-team jangnim and _him_ , after all that. Doyeon and the rest of her company move on, leaving Jaehyun stuck staring between Jung-team jangnim and Taeyong, trying to figure out if he’s missed something crucial.

“Um,” Jaehyun says, before Jung-team jangnim excuses himself to go back to work, and Jaehyun is left alone with Taeyong.

“Sorry. We just—Changmin,” is all Taeyong says. He looks shy, but as always, takes Jaehyun’s breath away. He is—quite possibly—wearing one of Jaehyun’s shirts. It’s just a black t-shirt—and under something far more expensive and worth Jaehyun’s attention—but something about the way it stretches out around his neck…

Jaehyun is so distracted that he doesn’t ask what Taeyong’s bodyguard has to do with all this. But then, Taeyong’s been staying at Jaehyun’s all weekend, and sleeping in Jaehyun’s bed, and every morning they wake up tangled together and pointedly _do not talk about it_ , so Jaehyun is allowed to lose track of things whenever he’s reminded of that.

“I’m just, um…” Taeyong trails off, looking uncomfortable. “Doyeon-noona!” He hurries to catch up with the weeping actress, and Jaehyun gives himself a furious talking to, before returning to his desk.

Jaehyun spends the rest of the day and all of the next following up on their sudden barrage of tips from the public, all of which end up being useless dead ends and do nothing to take his mind off Taeyong. It doesn’t help that some members of the public have started running birthday ads for Taeyong; around what feels like every subway corner is a massive blow up of Taeyong’s face, smiling and set against the backdrop of well-wishes. Jaehyun had actually managed to forget about Taeyong’s birthday, but now it’s all he can think about, in between bouts of cursing Taeil and Johnny for sending him to follow up on Park Minchul sightings in what feels like only the underbelly of the city.

“So. Taeyong,” says Taeil on Wednesday, as a commotion starts up somewhere at the front of the precinct. He’s got a piece of paper in one hand and an uncapped pen in the other, clearly having been on phone duty.

Jaehyun scowls, the tips of his ears feeling hot. “He’s just staying with me until it’s safe. You know that. I’ve said. It’s not that big of a deal.” He reaches for the paper with the tip, but Taeil doesn’t give it to him.

“And as I’ve said… I didn’t think _Taeyongie_ was the one in danger,” Taeil says. “Also, what do you mean ‘staying with you—’”

Because Jaehyun’s luck is just that fabulous, said commotion materializes into Taeyong, striding across the floor with a serious look on his face. He’s alone—still not trailed by any sort of bodyguard—and Jaehyun makes a note to finally bring that up. Then Taeyong gets in range, sets down what is very clearly Jaehyun’s forgotten lunch, and all other thoughts leave Jaehyun’s mind.

“You forgot your lunch,” Taeyong says somewhat redundantly. He nods, glances at Taeil so quickly that Jaehyun almost thinks he’s imagined it, and turns on his heel to leave.

“ _Oh_ ,” says Taeil as he goes, somehow managing to put entire paragraphs into that one word. “You mean he’s _staying with you_.”

Jaehyun feels both of his ears burst all the way into flames. “What? No—nothing else is going on—”

“It’s okay Jaehyunnie.” Taeil practically radiates smugness. “I won’t think any less of you if you become a princess.” He hands over the piece of paper with a flourish. “Here’s another one specifically for you,” he says. “Do try not to get hired this time.”

“Shut up, I got lost!” Jaehyun grabs the paper with one hand and his lunch with the other. “My phone died! No one was going to hire me!” He slams his hip into his desk in his haste to get to the breakroom. One of his pens clatters onto the floor in his wake, but he ignores it—and his still cackling friend. He _had_ been lost. His phone _had_ died. The woman who lent him an outlet had been perfectly welcoming and helpful… despite being dressed as a giant cat. And it would have been rude to just _leave_.

Today’s tip is just a sighting near a rundown hotel—thankfully not near another cat café—and Jaehyun breathes out a long sigh of relief. He still feels itchy and on edge, though, which is not a good feeling to have in the middle of a massive manhunt. It’s probably also why it takes him until he’s exiting the subway station and trying to figure out what side of the street the hotel is on before he realizes that he’s not alone. Jaehyun’s got his fully-charged phone out to verify directions and he’s not really looking at anything else but the light catches on the screen just so. When he turns, eyes narrowed, it’s to see Taeyong’s blond head disappear around a corner.

Jaehyun feels a muscle start to twitch under his left eye.

“Hyung,” he growls, not even bothering to go around the corner and look.

To his credit, Taeyong steps out to meet him after only a few seconds. “Jaehyunnie,” he says, one hand on the back of his neck and a bright smile on his face. “Fancy seeing you here—”

“This is an active investigation,” Jaehyun says through gritted teeth. “You are a civilian _and_ ”—he finally steps forward, herding Taeyong off the main path and closing one hand around his right wrist so that the fucker can’t get away—“a _royal_ ,” Jaehyun finishes in a hiss. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Taeyong just smiles at him, but does look a little uncomfortable. “You dropped your pen?” he offers, and has the audacity to actually offer Jaehyun the writing implement in question. It only takes about five seconds of Jaehyun blankly staring before Taeyong puts the thing back where it’d come from, ears bright red now. “No? You’re right—that sounded better in my head—”

Jaehyun isn’t going to make it out of this case without a criminal record after all. He tightens his hold on Taeyong’s wrist and glances around. “Is Changmin here?” Now that he thinks about it he can’t believe how absent Taeyong’s guard has been—maybe Changmin’s been living in Jaehyun’s ceiling, or something—but Jaehyun can’t just let Taeyong walk off alone. He shuts his eyes, then opens them. “Look—just—stay _behind me_ and _don’t talk_ ,” Jaehyun says through gritted teeth. It’s one rundown, probably dead-end hotel, and after that Jaehyun can use his lunch break to haul Taeyong—not home—back to Jaehyun’s apartment. Which is not Taeyong’s home.

Jaehyun turns and starts walking, pulling Taeyong behind him.

“Sorry, Jaehyunnie, I’m just… bored,” says Taeyong, since apparently all attempts at obedience have been abandoned today. “It’s been days.”

“Aren’t you an introvert?” Jaehyun snaps, and then immediately feels bad. While it’s only technically been three days since Chanyeol was attacked, Taeyong has actually been pretty good about staying in Jaehyun’s apartment. And granted, Jaehyun isn’t there all day, so he technically wouldn’t know if that wasn’t the case… but given how clean the place has been, he’d bet that Taeyong’s kept to his word and stayed indoors. He’d only left today to bring Jaehyun his lunch.

“I said no talking,” Jaehyun tells Taeyong again, swallowing his guilt and letting go of Taeyong’s wrist so that he can pull open the door to the hotel. He crosses the floor without waiting, putting his shoulders back and heading straight for the front desk.

The woman working there could not be less impressed by Jaehyun’s badge, his purpose, or the urgency of his need to know if Park Minchul—pictured—is staying at this lovely establishment. “There’s no one here under that name,” she says, not looking up from her phone.

“Well, could you look at the photo anyway—he might be using a different name.” He slides the photo over and waits pointedly until the woman looks, all still while smiling. It takes her a terribly long time to look it over, and Jaehyun fights the urge to start tapping his foot.

“I’ve never seen him before in my life,” says the woman.

Somehow, Jaehyun keeps his smile in place. “Are you the only person who works the front desk?” he asks. “I really need to find him, so if there’s anyone else—”

“I guess that you could talk to Youngjae—Youngjae-yah!” Jaehyun winces at the volume of the woman’s shouting. “Could you come out here for a second? The police want to talk to you!” After a pause, and without breaking eye contact, she adds, “It’s about someone else—you’re fine.”

Jaehyun has no idea how he holds it together. Where the fuck is Taeyong? Surely it can’t have taken him that long to reach the front desk? Unless Taeyong has fucking abandoned Jaehyun and is waiting outside—Jaehyun turns, looking over his shoulder, and catches Taeyong nearly colliding with a young man dressed all in black.

“Oh, sorry,” he hears Taeyong say, reaching out to steady the man, but the man flinches away, and in that moment, Jaehyun recognizes him. It’s easy, since he’s holding a photo of the man, and his face is plastered everywhere. He’s taller than Jaehyun had thought.

Jaehyun turns, going for the gun at his belt.

“Hey, wait,” says Taeyong, almost simultaneously to Jaehyun’s movement. “You’re—Park Minchul—” Taeyong barely finishes the final character of Minchul’s name before the man is running, darting around Taeyong and making for the exit. He goes out the doors before Jaehyun has time to think.

“Fuck!” Jaehyun gives up on the gun and takes off after him, passing Taeyong with only a minor falter in his steps. But then, Jaehyun can’t fucking _leave him_. Or he shouldn’t, at least. Not alone in some random hotel. Not… unprotected. “Fuck,” Jaehyun says again as he bursts out of the hotel doors.

He’s already looking this way and that, but they’re only a few blocks away from the subway, and if Jaehyun was a fugitive on the run, he’d go there first. Jaehyun should follow, obviously, but then—fuck— _Taeyong_ —Jaehyun really can’t just take off, even though he really wants to. And who knows if Minchul has even gone into the subway.

“ _Shit_.” He does another look around, hoping maybe he’ll see—but nothing. “Fuck. Shit. _Fuck_.” Jaehyun feels justified in taking a few more seconds just fucking _swearing_ , before picking up his phone and dialing Taeil. “I found him,” he says, still glancing around just in case. He rattles off the name of the hotel and the address, before giving up on chasing and heading back inside. “He ran off—fucking vanished in broad daylight—and we’re right next to the subway—but I’ll go check his hotel room; see if anyone else is there.” He’s a little more colorful than he should be when on the phone with a superior, but Taeil takes it in good spirits.

“I’m sure Byoungjun-hyung will welcome the opportunity to harass a judge again,” Taeil says brightly, before Jaehyun can even mention getting a warrant. “At least it’s not a Saturday this time.” He keeps going, talking about how they’ll catch him, and not to beat himself up about it, and it’s good that Jaehyun found where Minchul was staying anyway.

Jaehyun rolls his head briefly ceiling-ward and sighs, but thanks Taeil. The lobby looks much the same when he gets there: Taeyong is still frozen near the doorway, and the woman at the front desk isn’t even looking at them. The man she called to come talk to Jaehyun has joined her, though he looks a little green, and two seconds from running too. Jaehyun pulls the phone away from his mouth and gives the man his best stare. “You make one move for the exit and I will not hesitate to shoot you,” he says, flicking his shirt to the side to reveal he is carrying, and watching the guy’s throat bob.

Taeyong makes a noise, a whispered, “you can’t actually shoot him, though, right?” coming out what has to be involuntarily.

Jaehyun just ignores him and keeps staring the guy down.

Taeil laughs in his ear. “Try not to shoot anyone before I get there, yeah?” he says, then hangs up.

Jaehyun pockets the phone while still making eye contact with the man behind the desk, then he gestures Taeyong forward, and follows. “So,” he says, mostly to the woman again. “You want to tell me again how you’ve never seen this man before?” He puts Minchul’s photo on the desk in front of them, watching them both with a raised brow.

The man breaks first. “He’s in room one-twenty-seven,” he says guiltily, with only one glance at the impassive woman beside him.

Jaehyun pulls the photo back to him with careful slowness. “Thanks so very much,” he says, and heads for the elevators. He trusts Taeyong to follow him.

“Jaehyunnie,” Taeyong says, once they’re standing side by side waiting to go up one floor. “You weren’t actually going to shoot him—”

“No, Hyung,” Jaehyun says, feeling exhausted and fighting to not sound like it. “It’s been a long couple of days, is all.” A long couple of days and an early couple of days; Jaehyun waking with the sun and apparently Taeyong’s bladder when his unofficial roommate gets up like clockwork to have an early morning pee.

“Right.” Taeyong sounds kind of shy, and Jaehyun cracks an eye to look at him, not sure if he even wants to ask.

He’s saved by the elevator doors. “Come on,” Jaehyun says. “Let’s go see how our killer lives… or at least go make sure he hasn’t got any accomplices.”

Minchul doesn’t have any, because of course he doesn’t, and Jaehyun resigns himself to the (admittedly necessary) paperwork involved in getting inside the hotel room.

* * *

Taeyong is still around hours later, after Jaehyun’s gotten on the phone first with Johnny to swear out an application for a search warrant and second with Park Jinyoung prior to the judge signing the warrant into effect. He’s not doing anything—just standing off to the side in the lobby while Jaehyun and company take statements and secure the scene—and neither Taeil nor Jiwoo commented when they first arrived, but by the time Byoungjun-hyung arrives with the warrant, Jaehyun is just starting to worry that his time has run out.

But Byoungjun-hyung’s eyes only land on Taeyong briefly, before settling back on Jaehyun. “Nice catch,” the man says, nodding around the hotel. “I’m glad to see you didn’t end up covered in fur this time—”

Jaehyun flushes, ears burning, but thankfully Taeyong stays silent.

“Jinyoung-pansa says ‘hello,’ by the way,” Byoungjun-hyung says. “And ‘Happy early Birthday.’” It takes Jaehyun an embarrassing few seconds to realize Byoungjun-hyung is addressing Taeyong, and in that time, the man moves off towards the front desk with the warrant in tow, leaving both Jaehyun and Taeyong to follow in his wake.

“You know Jinyoung-pansa?” says Jaehyun, before they do.

“ _Fur_?” counters Taeyong.

“Never mind,” says Jaehyun, and hurries to catch up with his team leader.

Minchul’s room is standard run-down hotel: one double bed, a rug that has seen better days, and a sorry excuse for a closet right by the front door. There’s an entire wall of windows with the curtains drawn, but the light switches on automatically with the front door, it seems, so there’s no trouble seeing anything. Aside from an innocuously positioned cup of coffee on the table by the windows, the place looks unlived in, the bed done up with a similar style to Minchul’s equally barren apartment, and the hotel issued slippers sitting untouched just inside the half-open closet. But all of that pales in comparison to the wall above the bed.

Minchul has taken the painting off the wall, the canvas left propped against the right side of the bed facing the windows. He’s tacked newspaper clippings and printouts directly into the drywall, drawn directly on the wallpaper, and placed a horrifyingly deified photo of Taeyong right in the center, a press photo from some event with a crude drawing of a crown right atop his head.

“Well… shit,” says Taeil, the first to break the silence, and Jaehyun can only agree.

* * *

They further seal the hotel, keeping anyone from coming in or out. The poor hotel manager looks a bit green around the gills, and Taeil takes him back out of the room to get some fresh air, no doubt also getting as much information from the man as possible about Minchul’s comings and goings.

This leaves Jaehyun and his shadow alone with the murder board, and the longer Jaehyun stares at it, the more he recognizes. There’s Lee Donghae’s official wedding photos with a giant red ex through the both of them; Hong Eunsung and Hong Jaesung standing on their mother’s arms at some sort of charity auction; Park Chanyeol posing for Vogue Magazine. There’s a press photo of Taemin’s entire family at his graduation from Julliard. Paparazzi shots of Andy at a Hollywood premiere. Jaehyun glances past photos of Lee Sooman out to lunch with the girls from Red Velvet, past photos from the crown prince’s first birthday, and comes back to the center piece. Upon closer inspection, Jaehyun realizes he knows where the photo is from after all. It’s May 25, 2021—Taeyong attending the commemoration ceremony honoring law enforcement on National Missing Children’s Day in Washington D.C.

He turns to Taeyong to confirm this, finds Taeyong wearing his fear splashed across his face for all to see, and swallows back the question. There’s no use; Jaehyun knows that’s what it’s from.

After a few more seconds of silence, Taeyong clears his throat. “I guess I can tell Noona she can stop sleeping with one eye open,” he says.

Jaehyun blinks. “What?”

“My sister.” Taeyong nods his head towards the wall of photos. “None of the women in my family are on this wall, aside from in the background.”

Jaehyun faces forward and finds that to be true; there’s a photo of Taeyong’s sister and her son beside Taeyong, but other than that, the women of the royal family are glaringly missing from Minchul’s murder board. “Huh,” he says. He should feel vindicated by having been right about why Lee Junghee wasn’t attacked, but mostly he just feels tired. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Taeil come back into the room and start to pull on a fresh pair of gloves.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, regarding the photo of his sister and nephew wearing their own drawn on crowns. He clears his throat. “It’s funny that people like Chanyeol-hyung and Eunsung-hyung count.” He turns to point at a photo of Lee Soonkyu out on a walk with her nephew. “But Sunny-noona and her sisters don’t.”

Jaehyun snorts. “I really think you’re affording Park Minchul a lot more criminal mastermind than you should, Taeyong-ah,” he can’t help but say. In the corner, Taeil nearly fumbles his glove, but Taeyong just inclines his head, and part of Jaehyun is practically in rapture over getting away with the informality. Getting to speak banmal with Taeyong had been a big deal, three years ago, and now, some part of him is still pleased. Jaehyun may have gotten caught sneaking into Gyeongbokgung palace multiple times in his errant youth, but Jaehyun still _tried to sneak into Gyeongbokgung palace_ , so.

“Yeah,” Taeyong says. “I guess you’re right.”

“Kun is on his way,” says Taeil, sliding in between the two of them without a care in the world. He waits patiently for Taeyong to move away and seems utterly unrepentant about the look on his face as he does so. “You should go downstairs and make sure the idiots at the front desk don’t try to run away. Johnny’s there, but you know how these things go,” Taeil adds.

Jaehyun does know. But he really wouldn’t like to hang out in the lobby playing babysitter. He’d much rather stay in the room, pouring over the murder wall. “Hyung,” he says.

“Jaehyun, go downstairs—”

“No need,” interrupts Byoungjun-hyung, stepping up beside them. He’s got his own pair of gloves on and looks grim. “What do we think?”

Jaehyun glances at the wall of photos. “Well…”

“Aside from the obvious, I mean.” Byoungjun-hyung smiles, though that seems grim as well. “You were right—it is about putting Taeyong on the throne.” His eyes slide over to Taeyong again, like oil over water. Jaehyun swallows.

Where to even _begin_.

“He’s obviously fucking smart,” Taeil says, the only one of them brave enough say it. “All that”—he waves a gloved hand around between the photographs on the wall—“aside. This place is a shit hole, but it’s pretty optimally located—and we know he’s perfectly capable of invading palace security.”

Taeyong makes a noise, but no one tries to argue, fully aware of the repercussions of such an invasion. Taemin is still not awake, and Andy’s mother had to hold a funeral without her daughter. Minchul is running circles around them all, and they know it.

“All of these photos are from the same event?” Taeyong offers eventually, sounding a little uncomfortable to be speaking, but doing so anyway. He glances briefly at Jaehyun, but then steps forward so that he can better appraise the wall. “Eunsung-hyung. Jaesung-hyung. Chanyeol-hyung.” He squints. “Samchon.” He points at one of the photos of Lee Sooman, and Taeil and Byoungjun-hyung but step forward as well.

“‘May 26, 2021.’” Taeil reads the date of one of the articles carefully. “‘Brothers Hong Eunsung and Hong Jaesung Are in attendance at the parade in celebration of King Lee Sooyoung’s seventy-third birthday.’”

“This is from the same parade. The date is circled,” Byoungjun-hyung says, looking at the photo of Chanyeol and Yoora. “And this—” He nods towards a photo of Andy, smiling at something Taemin is saying. Then he purses his lips. “Minchul’s father died that day.” All of them stare at Byoungjun-hyung, but he just continues. “On May 26, 2021. He had a heart attack.”

Taeil is clearly already making a note to follow up on _that_ , so Jaehyun swallows back his own commentary and puts his hands in his jacket pockets. And then he freezes when his fingers brush up against the corner of something. He realizes when he wore this leather jacket last: almost four weeks ago, on his way to pick up Taeyong so that they could attend Hong Jaesung’s party. An idea starts to take form in Jaehyun’s mind.

Taeil and Byoungjun-hyung keep speaking, going back and forth about the likelihood of Minchul showing his face again any time soon. Taeil thinks he will, Byoungjun-hyung is much more skeptical, and the both of them haven’t uncrossed their arms; Jaehyun ignores them both, closing his fist around the invitation in his pocket and pulling it out into the open. No one notices him.

“Hey,” he says, in the next lull of the conversation. “What do you think would be enough to lure him out?”

Taeil and Byoungjun-hyung both turn to look at him with twin looks of annoyance on their faces that rapidly fade into confusion.

“To draw him out?” asks Taeil, shifting forward.

“Did you find something?” asks Byoungjun-hyung.

Jaehyun holds out the bit of paper, tilted so none of them can really see it. “Say… the entire royal family had a reason to gather in one place,” he says slowly. “And we advertised that publicly—loudly.” He swallows. “Do you think that’d be enough to draw him out?”

Taeil and Byoungjun-hyung are still staring, but it’s Taeyong who speaks, shifting closer as he does so. “I know my cousin is as arrogant as all the kings have been, but he’d have to be particularly idiotic to agree to a family gathering given the circumstances. His nephew is dead. Eunsung—Jaesung—”

Jaehyun waves the invitation towards his face, cutting his sentence off in the middle. “I know,” Jaehyun says. “But just… humor me. Say we did that. Threw a big royal party. Do you think it’d work?” He’s addressing Byoungjun-hyung and Taeil again, but Taeyong is so still he could be a statue.

“You,” he manages. “You kept it—”

“Hyung?” Jaehyun flips the paper back around, eyeing the pretty script. _You are cordially invited to celebrate His Royal Highness Prince Lee Taeyong’s twenty-eighth birthday_ , it reads in English. Underneath the words is a symbol of a rose.

“It depends who we got to attend,” Taeil says finally. “Minchul will have to kill Lee Sooman and Yoon Jihoon if he wants Taeyong’s line to the throne completely clear—and go after Chaneyol again.”

“They’re at the party,” Jaehyun says. “Everyone is.”

“Well, he’s not stupid, clearly.” Taeil sounds about as happy about that as everyone else. “There’s no way he doesn’t think it’s a trap. And not to mention, there’s little to no way anyone in palace is security is letting Lee Sooman, Yoon Jihoon, and Park Chanyeol attend some sort of club—”

“Not a club.” Jaehyun hands Taeil the invitation, ignoring the way Taeyong seems to reach after it almost involuntarily. “A party. At the palace—Gyeonghuigung,” he amends, since that seems the safest option.

Taeyong makes another tiny noise, but Jaehyun doesn’t look at him.

“Your birthday is next Friday?” says Taeil, brow furrowing.

Taeyong flinches. “Yes—”

“It’s a _masquerade_ ,” Jaehyun continues. “Taeyong’s sister has it all planned and everything—he just needs to sign off on the invitations.”

Taeyong is staring at him hard enough that Jaehyun should worry about bursting into flames, but shockingly, Jaehyun feels utterly calm.

“A masquerade,” Byoungjun-hyung says, taking the card from Taeil when he hands it over.

“It’s a reason for everyone to get together,” Jaehyun continues. “And a way to show strength—people talked when there was no celebration for Lee Sooman’s birthday.”

“People always talk about Lee Sooman,” mutters Taeyong, darkly. “That’s what happens when you fuck off to start a multi-media company instead of producing an heir.”

“Chanyeol and Yoora _were attacked_ on his birthday,” points out Taeil.

“How soon do you think your sister can have this party ready?” interrupts Byoungjun-hyung, looking seriously at Taeyong. “Taeyong-ssi.” Jaehyun’s team leader pauses. “Need I remind you that you should not even _be here_ —”

And there’s the other shoe. Jaehyun feels like it’s landed right on top of his fucking head.

Taeyong stands to attention. “My sister?” he says. “I sign off on the invitations and she’s got a guest list by Thursday,” he says.

Byoungjun-hyung fingers over the place where the mock card says, _July 1, 2022_. “Ten days,” he mutters. “He’s military, you do remember.”

Jaehyun blinks.

“Park Minchul? Most of his family is dead—his mother when he was young, his father just this last year—and his younger brother lives in Japan. They’re estranged. He was in the army when it happened—his dad—but his superiors had nothing but good things to say, despite everything.”

Byoungjun-hyung lets his final sentence hang, and Jaehyun thinks again about how Minchul is on medical leave. He thinks about how Minchul’s father died one year ago to the day Minchul first started killing.

“He’s not going to risk everything for just any old get together,” finishes Byoungjun-hyung. His tone is careful.

Taeyong seems to gather himself. “So, we’ll just have to make it worth his while,” he says. “Hold it at _Gyeongbokgung_.” He glances briefly at Jaehyun. “Have my cousin get on camera and talk about how the great House of Lee would never bow to foreign adversity.” He pulls a face. “I’m long overdue for an official introduction, anyway.” He says the last sentence like it’s poison, and Jaehyun chews on the inside of his mouth so hard he worries about drawing blood.

“Then it’s settled.” Byoungjun-hyung claps his hands together.

Taeyong nods. “I’ll call my sister.” When Jaehyun tries to catch his eyes, he finds other things to look at.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A most massive shoutout to Hexmen for editing this chapter, which required extensive amounts of rewrites on the crime front because—as I had forgotten—even your villains do in fact have rights. I am a wiser, more educated person now, with in depth knowledge about search warrants… which the police do in fact need… if they want to search an apartment. And yes, Park Minchul is related to everyone’s favorite, Park Kyungchul—I just couldn’t use Kyungchul this time as I was, in theory, anonymous. 
> 
> Share this fic: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835)  
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	7. Seven

They announce Taeyong’s birthday masquerade as part of a press release delivered by King Lee Sooyoung early the next morning, in time for the morning news. It’s a whole to-do, set against the backdrop of Gyeongbokgung Palace, and Jaehyun gathers with the rest of the team to listen to it, even though he was semi-involved in scripting it. There really does end up being a line about how the “Great House of Lee will never bow to foreign adversity.” Minchul’s name comes up more than a few times—targeted for greatest affect. Jaehyun worries briefly that it won’t be enough, but then he checks his phone, and well. Perhaps Park Chanyeol has taken things too far, but his callout post is already all anyone is talking about on SNS. Sometime into the frenzy, Doyoung and Ten get on Twitter and post pictures of potential mask options, and even Taeyong dusts off his ill-used Instagram to post pictures of the final invitation.

“You’re welcome,” he tells Jaehyun afterwards, as the likes on all three of their posts go through the roof. He’s standing stiffly in the center of the precinct, but most of the team has gone back to their work, leaving them alone. Byoungjun-hyung is on the phone settling logistics with both NIS and palace security, Johnny is in charge of figuring out a realistic yet not too dangerous guest list, and Taeil is… somewhere, doing… something. Jaehyun’s supposed to provide support for anything anyone needs and then some (and to work on other cases since the world doesn’t stand still just because someone is hunting the monarchy) but right now, looking at the tense line of Taeyong’s shoulders and the miserable downturn to Taeyong’s mouth—Jaehyun kind of just wants to take Taeyong home.

Or not home—their home—just Jaehyun’s home.

Where Taeyong is staying, and will be staying until his birthday, ten days from now.

Fuck.

“I guess I should go ho—back to your place,” says Taeyong, whose thoughts were apparently similar to Jaehyun’s. Jaehyun nods, even though he doesn’t want to let Taeyong out of his sight. “Can I—take the train?” Taeyong almost looks _shy_ , and Jaehyun shouldn’t leave but he doesn’t want Taeyong going somewhere alone.

He casts around for something for Taeyong to do and settles on Johnny, who is pointedly facing his computer screen and is sitting too still to actually be working. “Or you could stay here and help Johnny-hyung,” says Jaehyun, noting how Johnny seems to stiffen even more. “Unless you want your sister to have the final say on the guest list.”

That seems to breathe a little more life back into Taeyong. “Ugh, no,” he says. “She’ll invite foreign _royalty_.” He shudders, like that’s a fate worse than death, but then manages to smile. “Noona’s always thought it would be romantic if one of us married a prince from another country, and God knows you’re going to be enough to stop her.” Taeyong’s cheeks go abruptly pink, but he manages not to stumble as he continues. “I mean not you personally—you the police department—you the… never mind. Johnny-hyung!” Taeyong raises his voice and then hurries so that he can hover over Johnny’s shoulder.

Jaehyun stares after him with his mouth open. He knows Taeyong’s sister didn’t marry foreign royalty—he met her husband more than a few times, point of fact. But he’s not addressing the rest of that sentence _at all_. Instead he watches Johnny shift over in his seat so that he and Taeyong can share a computer screen, watches Taeyong relax enough to throw his head back and laugh—

Taeil crosses Jaehyun’s field of vision. “Careful, Jaehyun-ah,” he says. “You’ll catch flies.” He pauses, holding a stack of papers that suggests he did actually have a place to go, and then leans back so that Jaehyun can’t see anything else. His eyes crinkle. “Like _Hank_ —”

Jaehyun feels heat flood his cheeks. “He told you—”

Taeil grins. “Yep,” he says. “Although I must admit it didn’t make a lot of sense—tell me again why Taeyong is raising plants with you?”

Jaehyun feels his ears start to blush too. “Shut up—not so loud!” he says, horrified. “Also, we are _not_! There’s _no way_ he told you that.”

“You’re right.” Taeil doesn’t seem even the slightest bit apologetic. “But it really doesn’t make any sense.”

Jaehyun latches onto Taeil’s sentence a little desperately. “I know,” he says. “Plants shouldn’t move.” Taeil blinks rapidly at him, clearly not at all following where Jaehyun’s leading, but Jaehyun can’t stop now. “Or fucking _look_ at you when you’ve just come out of the shower. Or fucking require _live_ fucking _prey_ —”

“Okay,” interjects Taeil. “Not to interrupt whatever the fuck _that_ was—”

“You brought it up!”

“Only because I still don’t understand why he’s even _staying with you_ —”

Jaehyun fights the urge not to slap a palm over Taeil’s mouth. “For the last time—”

“It’s only until it’s safe,” finishes Taeil. “Which again… I didn’t know Taeyong was even in danger—”

Jaehyun could strangle him. “Hyung!”

Taeil fucking pats him on the arm. “It’s alright, Jaehyunnie,” he says. “I understand you’ve got your heart set on being a princess”—Jaehyun is actually going to strangle him—“you don’t have to pretend to be afraid of carnivorous plants for me.” Taeil pats him on the arm one more time and then turns on his heel and leaves, and more than a few heads turn to look at Jaehyun once he’s gone. Jaehyun has no choice but to hold the rage inside and return to his own desk, right next to Johnny’s, and deal with the fact that Taeyong has commandeered his chair.

“Hey.” Taeyong tilts his head to look up at him, the remnants of laughter lingering in the corners of his eyes and the quirk of his mouth. “Your chair sucks.”

It’s nothing Jaehyun hasn’t heard before, but he still finds himself fighting the urge to pull out his hair and scream.

Taeyong’s eyes widen and he stands, the movement so sudden that Jaehyun doesn’t even have time to move back and their noses nearly collide. “Jaehyunnie,” he says, tone serious and quiet. “Are you alright?”

Johnny stays seated, poking around on the computer, but Jaehyun knows he’s listening—watching—fucking _reporting back to Mark_ and who _knows_ who royal else—and so he swallows the urge to flee and doesn’t step away from Taeyong. “I’m fine, Hyung, thanks,” he says. He pretends not to notice how Taeyong’s eyes flick down to watch him lick his lips.

“Right.” Taeyong’s cheeks seem a bit pink, but he doesn’t move away either, reaching up with a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He’s so fucking warm. Jaehyun wouldn’t even have to move all that much at all and they’d kiss. “It’s good you’re here, though.” Taeyong moves like he’s going to sit down, then pauses, scooting the chair back over so that it’s in front of Jaehyun’s desk.

Jaehyun sits because it’s the right thing to do, and counts to five in his head to get his heart under control.

“What do _you_ think about inviting all of Eunsung-hyung’s exes—too soon and in poor taste?”

“Well—” says Jaehyun, before Taeil comes frantically back over to them, eyes wild.

“Youngho,” he says when he gets back in earshot. “Jaehyun. He’s awake.”

Jaehyun just blinks up at him, startled. He rises out of his chair, hand reaching for Taeil. “What?”

“He’s _awake_ ,” Taeil says again. “Tae—”

Byoungjun-hyung comes striding out of his office with a stern look on his face. “Lee Taemin has just woken up,” he says. “Johnny? You’re with me.”

Johnny abandons his computer immediately, following their team leader without a backwards glance, and Jaehyun reaches out to steady Taeyong, who looks about two seconds from falling.

“Taemin-hyung’s awake?” Taeyong says, voice a little shaky. Jaehyun glances around sort of pointlessly, and then tugs Johnny’s chair back out so that he can do his best to nudge Taeyong into it through thoughts alone. Then he clears his throat, because Taeil hasn’t answered.

Taeil snaps out of it immediately. “What—oh—yes,” he says. “He’s not lucid—he was in a coma for almost two weeks—but he’s responsive—his eyes are open and everything.”

Jaehyun fights the urge to snap at him, telling himself that it’s stupid to be so protective over Taeyong. Taeyong’s older than he is, after all. Still… the look on Taeyong’s face. And he and Taemin were close, Jaehyun knows that much.

“Thank God,” Taeyong breathes. “He’s going to be okay?”

Taeil doesn’t need to be prodded this time. “All things considered; his injuries weren’t that extensive,” he replies.

Taeyong lets out another long exhale and takes a seat in Johnny’s offered chair. “Jaehyunnie,” he says, joy apparent in every bit of his face. “Finally, good news.”

Jaehyun just stares down at him and tries to tell himself he isn’t missing where they’d been touching, however briefly, when Jaehyun put a hand on Taeyong’s shoulder to keep him from falling on his face. “Yeah,” he says. “Good news.”

“I’ll just leave you two love birds to it,” says Taeil—the asshole—and then leaves before Jaehyun can do more than move to throw a pen at him. At least Taeyong doesn’t seem to notice. Jaehyun hopes.

* * *

Lee Taemin may be awake and responsive, but he’s in no state to be answering police questions, and so Friday evening finds Taeil and Jaehyun trapped in a car, parked outside of Minchul’s apartment building on a stakeout. It’s not _entirely_ cause and effect, though. They’d probably be there even if Taemin had emerged from his coma with a play-by-play account of his accident. Minchul is in the wind, and while NIS has escalated everything to the point where there’s no way the man has flown out of the country (barring him being some sort of criminal mastermind), they still have a resolute nothing. Talking to the paramedics involved in attempting to save Minchul’s father’s life had certainly been eye opening in terms of figuring out the man’s motive—the ambulance had been thwarted by street closures because of the royal parade, thereby leaving him dead on arrival—but it hadn’t done anything to get them closer to capturing the man himself.

So Byoungjun-hyung sends Taeil and Jaehyun to watch his empty apartment. At least he seemed a little apologetic about doing so; Johnny had just laughed and started talking loudly on the phone about how excited he was about date night, and Jaehyun had to rush out of the building before Taeil could make yet another comment about how maybe Jaehyun should call home, let his houseguest know he wouldn’t be home for dinner and not to wait up, that sort of thing.

“Healthy communication is the cornerstone of every relationship, Jaehyun-ah,” Taeil said, cackling, and Jaehyun took advantage of the fact that they were no longer in the presence of their boss to try to fight him.

Now, nearly three hours into watching Minchul’s surprisingly lived-in apartment complex, Jaehyun is starting to wish he’d won that fight.

“Seriously,” Taeil says, finishing off his street takeout and licking his fingers. He still wipes them on a napkin afterwards anyway, before bundling everything away into the plastic bag he has hooked around the gear shift. “You’re sure you don’t want to text Taeyong?”

Jaehyun doesn’t understand how someone so small and capable can be simultaneously so fucking oblivious; he’d have thought it was obvious he _does not want to text Taeyong_ , and that he’d made that clear three hours ago. But then, looking at Taeil’s smirk, it’s not like Taeil doesn’t know. He just doesn’t care.

Jaehyun sighs. “Are you going to do this all night?” he says. He kind of has to pee. He’s also a little hungry, but he turned down an offer for food fifteen minutes ago when Taeil left for his own bathroom/food break.

Taeil doesn’t beat around the bush. “I guess that depends,” he says. “Are you going to text Taeyong—”

Jaehyun raises clawing fingers before he can stop himself.

Taeil grins. “I’m just looking out for you,” he says. “This job can be tough. I wouldn’t want you to start sacrificing your relationships for it.”

Jaehyun opens and closes his mouth. “You,” he says. “Are you _dying_?”

Taeil just blinks innocently back at him.

“Are you going through some sort of midlife _crisis_?” Jaehyun continues. “You’re only twenty-nine!”

Taeil shudders. “That’s nearly thirty, asshole,” he says. “Please don’t remind me.”

Jaehyun keeps staring, trying to crack Taeil’s code. “Only in parts of Asia!” he says finally, when that ends up a fruitless endeavor. “But seriously, Hyung, are you okay? You’re not… thinking of _retiring_ —”

“Jaehyun-ah.” Taeil looks about as pleased to hear Jaehyun say the words ‘retiring’ as Jaehyun is to have said them. “Please stop changing the subject.”

“I’m not changing the subject!” Jaehyun says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it with his face. “Look! I’m texting him now!” He’s not even a little embarrassed at how easy it is to find Taeyong’s name in KakaoTalk, nor is he embarrassed that the man’s contact name remains `Royal Bastard`. “There!” He thrusts the phone in Taeil’s face, unrepentant. “Are you happy?”

Taeil takes hold of the phone so he can look, expression serious. “You should add a heart to his name,” he says finally. “‘Royal Bastard heart emoji’ is much nicer than just ‘Royal Bastard.’ Alone, it just sounds kind of demeaning.” He smirks. “But who am I to judge if the two of you are into that—”

Jaehyun takes his phone back with his face on fire. “What?” he manages. “No—I—he’s in my phone as ‘Royal Bastard’ because _he’s a royal bastard_ —”

“Who broke your heart, yes I know.” Jaehyun can’t believe Taeil is his fucking friend. “But you broke his too, right, so you’re even, yeah?” Taeil’s eyes go surprisingly knowing when he says that last sentence, gaze abruptly fixing outside the car window.

Jaehyun looks too, tensing, and then relaxes when he sees it’s just a group of twenty-somethings leaving for what looks like a night out. He does a closer look anyway, squinting to make sure none of them are Park Minchul, before letting his thoughts return to Taeil’s… bombshell. Because it is a bombshell. Jaehyun hadn’t thought about it like that. Jaehyun had been—honestly—too focused on not making a fool of himself while cohabitating with what he’d had the self-awareness to at least admit was probably the love of his life. But apparently, he’d missed quite a lot. All the guilt, pain, and anger leftover from how their relationship had ended had been sorely missing from any and all epiphanies.

Jaehyun’s phone lights up with a response from Taeyong, but he doesn’t look at it. Instead, he focuses his attention on the apartment building again.

Taeil nudges him in the shoulder. “Yah, Jaehyun,” he says. “No sulking. Come on. Where are those iconic dimples?”

Jaehyun wants to glare back at him, but it’s sort of impossible when faced with Taeil’s impossible good cheer. There’s a reason Johnny calls him a teddy bear, after all. He exhales, then collapses a little back into his seat, shoulders in a slouch. “Iconic?” he says.

“Every year I write Nari-noona and ask that you be made into our mascot,” Taeil says promptly. “‘Dear Yoon-sajangnim,’ I say. ‘I realize that we are not exactly lacking in the mascot department, however, I invite you to consider: Posuni and Podori’s younger brother: Bojogaedori—’”

Jaehyun reaches for Taeil and Taeil just cackles, easily moving out of range.

“You get it? Bojogaedori? Because you have dimples—”

“You’re _hilarious_ , Hyung,” Jaehyun says, giving up on attacking him. “Really. You should retire and become a comedian.”

“I’d make a better singer,” Taeil says brightly. “But to return to the original point of our conversation—you know Taeyongie’s forgiven you, yes?”

Jaehyun can only stare.

“And you know it’s okay that you’ve forgiven him too, right?” Taeil is unfairly at ease for how off balance he’s put Jaehyun. “Like… that’s not what’s keeping you from extending the ‘come live with me’ past us catching Minchul, right?”

No way Jaehyun is going to address _that_. It’s not like he’s thought about it, or anything. Not like he catches himself making notes about his day to tell Taeyong over dinner, like he’s slept better in the past few days than he thinks he has since October 2019, like every morning it gets harder to talk himself out of lifting his head and kissing Taeyong, regardless of the repercussions. He hums noncommittally instead.

Taeil’s are knowing and far too kind. “Jaehyun—”

“Can we not talk about Taeyong?” Jaehyun says finally, not making eye contact. “Please?” He spends an unnecessary amount of time watching a woman and two children enter Minchul’s apartment building, amusing himself trying to figure out what’s written on the girl’s t-shirt.

Taeil lets the silence sit for all of a minute. “That actually might be somewhat of a problem,” he says finally. Jaehyun doesn’t know if he wants to know, but he turns to ask anyway. “Given that I texted him. Taeyong,” continues Taeil. “So, you didn’t need to, I mean.”

As if in slow motion, Jaehyun pulls his phone out of his pocket and lights up the screen, then unlocks it so he can pull up KakaoTalk.

`Oh, uh, thanks for letting me know, Jaehyunnie`, Taeyong has written in response to Jaehyun’s surprisingly ungarbled, `Won’t be home for dinner am on stakeout with Taeil-hyung.` Jaehyun is almost shocked that there are no glaring typos. `I’m actually on my way to meet you since Taeil-hyung asked?` reads Taeyong’s next message, sent only moments later. `But I’m starting to think he didn’t tell you… Should I not come?` Jaehyun swallows. `Jaehyun?` Taeyong has sent several minutes after that. `You’re not even reading these.` It’s not time stamped all that far back, but Jaehyun starts doing frantic mental math to figure out how long it would take to get from his apartment to Minchul’s apartment anyway.

“Hyung,” he hisses.

roy

Taeil is utterly unapologetic, unbuckling his seatbelt and unlocking his door.

Jaehyun looks around in a panic, not seeing Taeyong. “What are you doing—” Taeyong is unfortunately conspicuous only for Jaehyun, since no one even turns a head as he passes them on the street, hands tucked into the pockets of his sleeveless sweatshirt type thing. He’s got a bucket hat covering the top of his head and looks unassuming, but Jaehyun still searches the crowd frantically for Changmin and comes up horrifyingly blank.

Taeil opens the door and gets out.

“Hyung!” Jaehyun hisses. “He’s a civilian! And _a royal_ —”

“I won’t tell Byoungjun-hyung if you don’t,” interrupts Taeil, leaning in to pat Jaehyun bracingly on the shoulder. “Tell him you forgive him,” he says quietly, while he’s there. When Jaehyun just stares, he slaps him on the arm again. “You’re welcome.” He grins and steps back so that Taeyong has to think fast to avoid slamming into him. “Thanks for taking over for me—I should only be half an hour.”

“Half an _hour_!” Jaehyun starts to protest, but cuts to a halt when Taeyong glances at him. He looks shockingly young under the hat, his bare arms startlingly pale. Jaehyun stares at the tattoo under his elbow and swallows.

“You kids have fun,” says Taeil, and then he fucking leaves.

For two painful moments, Taeyong just stands outside the car, looking lost.

Jaehyun counts to ten in his head. “Look, get in—you’re going to draw attention,” he tells Taeyong, and doesn’t think about how slight the man is as he slips into Taeil’s vacated seat next to him.

Taeyong is silent for a long while, before Jaehyun can’t take the silence anymore and has to break it. He turns to face him, the words ‘you know I forgive you, right?’ already bubbling up from what feels like the center of his chest, only Taeyong beats him to it.

“Sorry, Taeil-hyung made it seem like you knew I was coming,” he says, and Jaehyun yanks his eyes away from his mouth and looks pointedly at the front door of Minchul’s apartment building, doing his best not to think about how pretty Taeyong looks when he’s obviously been gnawing on his lower lip. That way lies remembering what it was like to have been the one doing the gnawing—kissing—more like. Taeyong was always so very lovely, all marked up. (And somehow even lovelier, when Jaehyun riled him up into doing the marking himself.)

“It’s fine,” Jaehyun says instead because it’s a safer conversation. “The likelihood of Minchul showing up at his place is pretty slim.” The guy’s clearly not an idiot, and his face is still everywhere on the news.

“Right.” Taeyong seems to stare at the dashboard for a while, before his mouth purses like he’s going to speak.

Jaehyun tilts his head in question. “Hyung?”

Taeyong’s lips quirk up into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Never mind,” he says.

They don’t acknowledge the fact that Taeil is gone for longer than only half an hour, and when he comes back—smelling suspiciously of coffee and holding a muffin from the place across the street with an equally clear view of the front doors to Minchul’s apartment building—Taeyong has fallen asleep on Jaehyun’s shoulder, sprawled all the way across the center console and snoring adorably.

Taeil raises one silent eyebrow, but Jaehyun just nudges Taeyong awake and goes to take his own bathroom break.

* * *

Four days before Taeyong’s birthday, Taemin is finally well enough to talk to the police. Jaehyun finds out from Johnny, who calls with the news while Taeyong is in the bathroom. This is a relief, since only moments before that, Jaehyun was in the middle of some sort of nervous breakdown, culminating in him uttering the words, “did your bodyguard _kill my neighbor_?” like some sort of deranged idiot. He’d gone out to get the mail and run into Changmin retrieving what looked like Hong-ajumeoni’s magazine subscriptions, and then returned to his apartment in something of a stupor while Changmin followed, going next door into Hong-ajumeoni’s place without so much as a greeting. Taeyong had been—the cause of the nervous breakdown—recently out of the shower and still in the process of toweling his hair dry, water dripping down the back of his neck and skin still flushed from the hot water. He’s since offered to go out and buy groceries, but Jaehyun is still somewhat off kilter.

So when his phone lights up with Johnny’s contact photo, he leaps at the distraction of work.

“Hello?”

“Taemin is awake and talking. I’m on my way to pick you up,” greets Johnny, without any attempt at small talk.

Jaehyun blinks rapidly a few times. “Okay—”

“I’m actually parking now. I’ll come up and meet you.”

Jaehyun glances around at the state of his apartment, noting that everything is very, very clean, if not also filled with the signs of his house guest—the most glaring being the Venus flytrap. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll just come out—”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll see you in a few,” says Johnny, and then hangs up the phone.

Jaehyun could panic and run around the place trying to make it seem like he and Taeyong haven’t fallen into living together with an unfair amount of ease for how very broken up they still fucking are, but he decides to just be calm and collected. He sits on his couch and fiddles with his phone, waiting for Johnny to ring the bell. He takes deep, even breaths.

“Jaehyun-ah?” Johnny pounds on the door in greeting, ignoring the bell and taking advantage of the thin walls. “I’m here. Open up.”

Jaehyun pockets his phone, still not panicking, and gets up to pull open the door. “Hi,” he says once he does, trying on what he hopes is a normal looking smile. “So, Taemin—”

Johnny pushes in before Jaehyun can stop him, thankfully not really looking at him. “He’s awake,” he says, bending to take care of his shoes, and continuing to speak when Jaehyun makes a noise.

“You’re not staying—”

“You’re not dressed,” Johnny says, finished with his shoes and raising his head pointedly, dragging his eyes up and down Jaehyun. “You’re—your place is really clean.” Johnny manages to put a whole story’s worth of judgment into that final sentence, and Jaehyun is almost offended.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m always clean.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “All through college you and Taeil only drank out of wine glasses—” he starts to say.

“We bought them by accident, and it was just easier to keep them and use them—”

Johnny steps out of the front hallway and goes to run fingers along Jaehyun’s kitchen counter, as if looking for dust.

“Hey!” Jaehyun protests, definitely insulted now. “You know I cook!”

Johnny’s head tilts to the right in acknowledgement of that fact, but then he stops directly in front of Hank. As if the thing fucking _knows_ —and Jaehyun does not care that all his research has shown that carnivorous plants are not sentient; he swears the thing only watches _Jaehyun_ —the Venus flytrap opens and closes.

Jaehyun finds himself moving in front of the plant a little defensively before he can stop himself. “Hyung—”

Johnny doesn’t seem to care about the Venus flytrap, however. “You’re sharing your bed,” he accuses instead, moving away from the kitchen and towards the living room. He’s a fucking police detective, and it’s not exactly hard math given the state of Jaehyun’s perfectly put together sofa—but Jaehyun still flushes all the way to the roots of his hair.

“I don’t have a guest room!” he says, crossing his arms. “And he can’t sleep on the couch—he’s a prince!”

Johnny does not look moved by any of this information.

“I know you’re totally unbothered by all the royal stuff because you’ve been dating Mark for years but I cannot let an _heir to the throne_ sleep on my couch when I have a perfectly functioning bed. And he wouldn’t let _me_ sleep on the couch—what are you doing?” says Jaehyun, pausing mid-rant to blink furiously at Johnny, standing in front of the couch in question just sort of… looking at it. After only a few more moments of that, Johnny bends, puts his hands on the thing, and tugs.

Jaehyun’s couch _unfolds into a fucking bed_.

It’s sheetless and sort of rickety and looks no more comfortable than it had as a couch, but Jaehyun can still only stare, faced with the reality that his couch—his fucking couch that he’s slept on for plenty an almost-all-nighter and sometimes just because he lives alone and he fucking _can_ —pulls out _into a bed_.

“You were saying?” says Johnny, with both eyebrows raised.

Jaehyun’s ears feel so hot they might just fall off. “You—I—” He hears the sound of the toilet flushing, and panics. “Fold that back up you fucking—”

Johnny tilts his head, daring Jaehyun to finish that statement as he’d intended.

“—wonderful, favorite, _best_ Hyung in the whole wide world,” Jaehyun says—desperately—and then smiles with both dimples.

Johnny sighs, but he folds the couch back up without further comment. _You owe me for this_ , his eyes say.

 _For the rest of my life and then some_ , Jaehyun does his best to say back with his own. “Now—”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble at all and the contents of your fridge are kind of embarrassing because I know you know how to cook—oh! Johnny-hyung?” Taeyong comes out of the bathroom with his own brow furrowed, drying his hands on his jeans. “What are you doing here?”

Jaehyun can’t help but look immediately at Johnny as if to say, “See, I _do_ cook,” only to find Johnny gazing back at him, oozing smugness. He looks about two seconds from making a terrible statement about how domestic Jaehyun and Taeyong are.

Jaehyun panics. “Hyung—”

“Picking Jaehyunnie up,” Johnny says, and Jaehyun’s not sure if the brevity is kindness. “Come on. Who knows how long Taemin will be awake—”

“Taemin-hyung is awake?” Taeyong interrupts, for some reason already glaring at Jaehyun. “When were you going to tell me?”

Jaehyun feels about a meter high, and to make matters worse, Johnny makes a noise that is definitely a held back laugh. “Look, Hyung, you’re still technically just a civilian—”

“Sorry, what was that?” says Taeyong. “You want me to tell my sister to cancel my birthday party after all? I thought it was the only way to catch Minchul—”

“Hyung is driving,” Jaehyun snaps, glaring sharply at Johnny and getting only faux-innocence in response. “Do you want to change, or are you good to go—”

Taeyong gives himself a quick once over and shakes his head. “No, I’m good—thank you for driving, Johnny-hyung.”

When they’re getting into the police car and Taeyong is distracted by insisting to Changmin and the rest of palace security that he doesn’t need to be followed to the fancy hospital where Taemin is being kept under lock and near-literal key, Jaehyun lets himself really glower at Johnny, who just shrugs.

“What?” Johnny sounds utterly unrepentant. “You’re the one who’s been living with him… sleeping with him—”

Jaehyun pulls the passenger-side door open angrily. His ears feel hot. “For the last time, it’s only until—”

“Things are safe, I know.” Johnny opens his own door and slides inside, waiting until Jaehyun has gotten into the passenger’s seat before he closes it again. “It’s okay if that’s not why, though,” he adds, aware that Taeyong has gotten into the backseat. “It’s okay if you want it to be… permanent—”

Jaehyun opens his door and gives it a hard slam. “Sorry,” he says, when Taeyong jumps. “My door wasn’t all the way closed.” He stares Johnny down, waiting for him to respond.

Johnny sighs. “Right,” he says. “Is everyone buckled?”

Taeyong and Jaehyun both voice the affirmative, and they’re off.

* * *

Taemin successfully IDs Park Minchul. He spends several painful seconds just looking at the photo of the man beforehand, but by the end of the conversation he seems in brighter spirits. He’s still a little out of it and clearly not up to more than a few visitors, but nevertheless insists on attending Taeyong’s birthday soiree.

“It’s Taeyongie’s birthday,” he says, as Johnny slides the photo array back into it’s folder and moves a step back away from his hotel bed. “I have to go. Shut up. You love Taeyongie.”

Taemin’s bodyguard—a tall, attractive looking man named Choi Minho, if Jaehyun is remembering correctly—starts to pull a face, but it’s Taemin’s best friend Kibum who interjects. “You nearly died,” Kibum says, coming over to the hospital bed to fuss in a manner that makes Jaehyun miss his mother almost painfully. One of Kibum’s hands goes for the pillow, but the other ends up clutching Taemin’s own, and the gesture belies his concern. “You’ve only just woken up.” Kibum finishes with the pillow and throws both hands dramatically in the air, tugging Taemin’s with him. It drops like a stone when Kibum lets go, but Taemin doesn’t even blink at the manhandling, he simply stares back. “You can’t even stand,” Kibum finishes.

“So, I’ll use a wheelchair,” says Taemin, stubborn to a fault. “You can come and wheel me. Minho will be there.”

Jaemin fights the urge to punch the air for having remembered the name correctly; Choi Minho levels his royal charge with a scowl worthy of a museum, before turning his attention to his phone.

“You’re not changing my mind,” Taemin finishes. “The only reason you’re throwing the party is to catch this guy, right?” He gestures towards Johnny and the folder holding the photo array, his lips curling back. “This Park Minchul? I have to be there. He—he killed _Andy-hyung_. Eunsung-hyung. Jaesungie.”

Kibum seems to wince, clearly apologetic, but doesn’t back down. “You nearly _died_ ,” he says again, the emphasis sounding almost choked. “Chanyeol isn’t even going.” That had been a whole other fuss, but ultimately it was determined that Chanyeol and his sister would be safer if they didn’t attend the party. It had been a tough enough sell to get Lee Sooman in confirmed—and advertised—attendance.

“Look,” Johnny tries to intercede, but Minho is already stepping forward with his phone extended.

It’s Taemin’s parents, video-calling from Japan since they’re abiding by the rules and not even trying to fly home, but even their cajoling can’t convince Taemin to stay in the hospital and recuperate.

“I’m going,” he just keeps saying, and eventually they have to hang up—but not before Taemin drags Taeyong into frame to say hello.

“Taeyongie is my favorite cousin,” Taemin tells Jaehyun afterwards—both in explanation for the way Taemin’s mother had cooed over Taeyong and for his insistence for attending the party. “We were babies together. Got in all sorts of trouble.”

Kibum has retreated to sit vigil in one of the chairs nearer to the window and Minho is conferring with the doctors at the door, leaving only Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Johnny standing over him in the hospital bed.

“What sort of person would I be, if I missed his twenty-eighth birthday?”

“You’re just saying that because almost everyone else is older than you,” says Taeyong, but he is—Jaehyun can’t help but notice—still looking a little misty eyed and is now the one clutching Taemin’s hand, unbothered by the IV.

“Not true.” Taemin’s tone is a little watery too, and he yawns, even though Jaehyun can tell he doesn’t want to. “Your whole branch of the family are practically fetuses.”

“My branch of the family?” Taeyong says.

“Lee Gun,” offers Taemin—Taeyong’s great-grandfather, and Mark and Donghyuck’s too, Jaehyun recognizes. Taemin’s eyes flick briefly to the side to look at _Jaehyun_ for some reason, but they’re gone again before Jaehyun can blink. “Infants,” Taemin says. “Barely out of the womb.”

Taeyong’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles. “I’ll be sure to tell Donghyuckie you said that—”

“Oh, please do, and when I’m present,” calls Kibum, glancing up from his phone. “That’s a fight the internet would love to see.”

Taemin flips him off, glib as you like, and then yawns again. He winces a little as he does that, but Jaehyun knows his injuries aren’t too bad, so he doesn’t worry.

“Anyway.” Taemin’s got his eyes fixed on Jaehyun and Johnny now. “I’m going.”

Johnny’s the one who nods, no doubt already mentally shuffling people around on the guest list and making a note to get them more security.

“Maybe only for a little while, though,” Taemin gives in wryly, and Kibum gets up like that’s his cue.

That night, lying side by side in Jaehyun’s bed staring quietly at the ceiling, Taeyong whispers, “Jaehyun-ah? I forgive you, you know? For breaking my heart—for telling me no.”

Jaehyun swallows around the lump in his throat and doesn’t say any of the things he wants to say, starting with how he hadn’t really told Taeyong no, just watched him walk away without a fight.

Taeyong lets his sentence hang between them for a long while, before releasing a quiet sigh. “Right,” Jaehyun hears him say. “Of course—”

“I forgive you too,” Jaehyun say suddenly, because ‘I’m sorry’ is still too fucking hard. “For—uh—Seulgi.”

Taeyong is silent again for almost too long, but then he rolls onto his side, putting his back to Jaehyun and saying more than words ever could. “Get some sleep,” Taeyong mutters. “You’ve got a big couple of days, and all.”

Jaehyun doesn’t point out that work has mostly been slow, the other teams taking most of their non-royal violent crimes, and Minchul’s trail is still annoyingly cold. He rolls onto his own side, trying not to think about the picture they must paint, lying back to back on either side of the bed. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, after waiting so long that Taeyong has to have fallen asleep. “I was a coward and I hurt you and I’m sorry—I—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just bites sharply on his tongue and shuts his eyes.

“I’m sorry too,” he swears he hears Taeyong say, but surely it must be a dream.

In the morning, they wake intertwined like they’ve done every morning since Taeyong started staying over, but instead of panicking and playing it cool, Jaehyun just shuts his eyes and waits for Taeyong to be the first to leave.

* * *

The masks Taeyong’s sister has picked out for Jaehyun and Taeyong were not supposed to match, but the one for Taeyong is clearly supposed to make him look like some sort of beautiful rose fairytale and the one for Jaehyun obviously drew its color and style inspiration from some sort of pretty pink flower, so they do.

“It’s a peach blossom and a rose,” Taeyong’s sister explains, as she hands them over. Taeyong’s mask is elegant and beautiful. It’s got what looks like a real rose on the right side, perched invitingly at the corner of his right eye, set against a backdrop of red velvet and gold lace that should look garish yet somehow works. Jaehyun’s mask employs a liberal amount of its own gold glitter—enough that he resigns himself to picking the stuff out of his clothes for the rest of eternity—and has a flower too; a large white-pink bloom with tiny gold-tipped stems in the middle. Both masks feature a line of tiny gems—real diamonds and rubies, if Taeyong’s sister is to be believed.

When they put them both on, standing side by side in one of the private, residential wings of Gyeongbokgung only minutes before Taeyong is due to make his grand appearance as the guest of honor, Jaehyun thinks—swallowing—that they look…

“You look beautiful,” Taeyong says quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say anything at all.

“You too,” Jaehyun mumbles, because the alternative is drawing attention to it with silence. “Uh, thank you—”

Taeyong’s sister waves a hand, staring at the both of them in the mirror with a pleased grin. “No, thank _you_ ,” she says, before Jaehyun can continue. “Seriously. I know all about how this entire party was your idea.”

“Noona, please,” interjects Taeyong, somehow managing to look embarrassed even with most of his cheeks hidden. “We’re only doing this so we can catch Minchul.”

Taeyong’s sister waves him off, unbothered. “I know, I know,” she says. “But you’re _wearing a mask_.” She waits a beat, clearly affording the statement more importance than Jaehyun would have assumed warranted. “And a suit,” Taeyong’s sister continues. “And you _match_ —”

“Okay!” Taeyong finishes fiddling with the fall of his mask and pivots to face Jaehyun. “Are you ready?” He doesn’t even wait for Jaehyun to answer. “You’re ready. We’re ready, Hyung!”

Jaehyun only has time to blink before Changmin appears in the doorway wearing his own extravagant mask, clearly styled after a deer. He’s got antlers. The entire thing looks like it might be fuzzy. Jaehyun wonders how the fuck Changmin’s going to be able to bodyguard dressed in the thing.

“You called?” says Changmin. Jaehyun can see he’s wearing an earpiece as well, and fights the urge to check that everything is working for the umpteenth time.

“We’re ready,” says Taeyong again.

Changmin’s lips quirk. “You do realize I’m not the Master of Ceremonies,” the man says, still only grinning slightly, although he does relax his stance a little so that he looks less like some sort of Greek god. “The MC.”

Taeyong throws his head back a little and groans. “Please don’t remind me,” he says. “Noona. Why’d you have to hire an MC?”

Taeyong’s sister sticks her nose in the air, already having finished disappearing behind her own mask—a much less dramatic number styled to look like a perfect, sparkling night sky. “Please,” she says. “If I didn’t, Minhyuk would never let me park my car in Sunny-unnie’s parking spot again.”

Jaehyun blinks. “Minhyuk?”

“The front gate guard,” says Taeyong, finally stepping forward and away from the mirror. He keeps going, pausing so that Jaehyun can fall into step behind him, and Changmin can bring up the rear. “Lee Minhyuk.” His lips purse. “I don’t think he’s related—”

Jaehyun fights the urge to roll his eyes behind his mask. “You’re rambling,” he says. “Stalling?”

“My sister hired Minhyuk-hyung to be the official MC,” says Taeyong, as they come out of the building into one of the courtyards. “You know.” Jaehyun can’t really see because of the night and the mask, but he thinks Taeyong is blushing. “The person who does the official announcing whenever people hold royal balls.”

There’s a beat. Taeyong’s steps seem to pick up in speed.

“Oh, I see,” says Jaehyun. “The MC.”

Taeyong definitely winces, but it’s too late for him to take it back—Jaehyun is only getting started.

“I haven’t been to a lot of _royal balls_ , given that I am but a poor, non-royal civilian, but I think I know what the Master of Ceremonies is—”

They’ve reached the bridge across the pond to Gyeonghoeru Pavilion, and Changmin steps forward to speak with the guard stationed there. Jaehyun fiddles with his mask, tugs at the fit of his suit overtop his bulletproof vest and stares out at the water. He tells himself he’s not nervous to be Taeyong’s date. He’s not even _really_ Taeyong’s date. He’s just undercover. He’s just—

Taeyong’s hand lands on Jaehyun’s own, fingers warm and a little clammy. “Jaehyun?” he says, head tilting.

Jaehyun doesn’t give himself a chance to second-guess it, lacing their fingers and giving Taeyong’s hand a hard squeeze. “I’m fine,” he says. “Just trying to make sure I’m ready for this ‘Master of Ceremonies—’”

Taeyong scowls at him but doesn’t try to take his hand back. “Make sure you tell Minhyuk to use his full name—both of them,” he says, addressing Changmin now. “For good measure, tell him he’s allowed to use nicknames.”

Jaehyun blinks. “Wait, no—”

But it’s too late. Changmin crosses the bridge ahead of them without seemingly a look back, and Jaehyun has no choice but to follow when Taeyong drags him along. He also reaches Minhyuk before they do, and so Jaehyun gets announced to the party as, “Detective Jeong Jaehyun, also known as Jeong Yuno, also known as Book Guy, bad taste in music, but decent taste in men.”

Jaehyun decides once this is over, he’s going to have to kill Minhyuk.

* * *

Gyeonghoeru Pavilion at night is, quite frankly, stunning. Most of the guests are spread out among the bottom floor, but the tables for eating are all on the top level, despite the spread of hors d’Oeuvres on the lower lawn. The guestlist isn’t that extensive, but Taeyong’s sister had refused to do anything small, and that combined with Jaehyun’s date being the guest of honor means that the first hour or so of the party is spent doing introductions. Everyone comes over to greet Taeyong, and more than a few of them older relatives who have zero qualms about pinching Jaehyun’s cheeks alongside Taeyong’s. Despite the masks, Jaehyun picks out Doyoung, complete with rabbit ears and Taeyong’s cousin, Jungwoo, standing next to him with matching dog ears. Lucas and Ten have gone as Hades and Persephone, which Jaehyun only knows from time spent on social media checking to see if Minchul would have the gall to leave a reply. Yuta’s some sort of sea creature, Mark and Johnny are a lion and some other animal, and Donghyuck? Taeyong’s cousin Donghyuck took his sun nickname as literally as possible.

It’s night so there’s no natural light to reflect off of the thing, but Jaehyun still feels a little blinded. “Wow,” is all he can say, once Minhyuk finishes announcing the kid and he starts making his way across the lower floor heading straight for poor Mark and Johnny. “You have to get me in touch with his stylist—hey, what?”

He can see that Taeyong has gone a bit pale under his own mask, lips pressed into a nervous line.

“Hyung—”

“Play along!” Taeyong hisses out of the corner of his mouth, and then slides his arm around Jaehyun’s waist, tugging him so that they line up hip to hip. He’s warm and smells good and they fit, even after all these years. Despite all these years, more like. “Imo, hi!” says Taeyong.

Jaehyun glances at him out of the corner of his eyes but doesn’t move away, even though every place they’re touching feels like it’s on fire—and not the bad kind, shockingly. “That’s your aunt?”

“Not biologically.” Taeyong’s always been good at talking without his lips moving—the product of a royal childhood—but tonight he could make a sport out of it; take up ventriloquy. “She works with my dad—is the CEO of her own company—her granddaughter”—Taeyong winces just thinking about it—“is my age—”

“Ah,” says Jaehyun, in time for the woman to reach them.

“Taeyong-ah.” The woman reaches out with both hands and takes Taeyong’s cheeks between them, smiling beautifully up at him, even as the harried looking man behind her reaches them, holding a mask.

“Daepyonim,” the man says, but the woman ignores him.

“And who might you be?” It seems Taeyong’s not-aunt has no qualms about taking a complete stranger by the face as well, and it’s a testament to how good Jaehyun is at his job that he lets her get away with it. It has nothing to do with the look on Taeyong’s face as he stumbles through the introductions—“This is Jeong Jaehyun, my… date.”—or the way the woman seems to give Jaehyun an even more probing onceover upon learning that information.

“I see,” she says, after an almost too-long pause. “I see what you were saying about Jaehee not being right for you—she would be missing _things—_ ”

“Imo!” Taeyong says, color high in both cheeks, but the woman just takes her mask from her poor assistant and is on her way.

“Jaehee?” Jaehyun manages.

“Her granddaughter,” says Taeyong. He looks abruptly worried. “Sorry… about this. Between now… and Jaesung’s party—”

Jaehyun waves him off, resigned to a few weeks of having the royal social circles talking about him, and then—probably—another public breakup. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, trying to smile. “We can just break up in a bit.” He’s amazed he sounds normal saying it, but he does. “It shouldn’t be too hard. We’ve done it once before.”

Taeyong smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, and then tugs Jaehyun close again for the next round of well-wishers.

By the time they’ve freed themselves to visit one of the long tables piled with food, Jaehyun is already starting to feel burned out. And Jaehyun is the extrovert in the relationship. Or not relationship. Partnership. Jaehyun and Taeyong’s mutually beneficial partnership that exists solely to catch the guy hunting Taeyong’s family, because there is no Jaehyun and Taeyong. Not anymore, at least. And Jaehyun doesn’t want there to be. Even though it’s been nice living together. Even though Taeyong forgives him. Even though—

“Hey.” Taeyong nudges Jaehyun with an elbow, perfect mouth turned up in the corners as he snacks on his favorite foods. Jaehyun wouldn’t have thought sweet potatoes make for good hors d’oeuvres, but that’s one the perks of being the birthday boy, he assumes. “You look stressed.”

Jaehyun blinks at him, then glances around at their supremely open, supremely overpopulated by undercover and also out of cover police and royal bodyguards. “I wonder why—”

“Hold that thought.” Taeyong has the audacity to put his finger in the center of Jaehyun’s lips, and Jaehyun has to use all of his self-control not to lick him. “Doyoung-ah!”

Jaehyun can only watch, heart still reeling from that tiny bit of contact—he wants to touch his mouth to make sure he still has a mouth, but that would be drawing attention to it—as Doyoung reaches the two of them with Jungwoo in tow. His mask is utterly gorgeous, very clearly styling him a rabbit, yet still sophisticated enough that he doesn’t look out of place among the stone pillars and elaborately painted roof.

“Taeyongie-hyung,” says Doyoung, tone odd for some reason. “Hi.”

Taeyong just stares at him, expression pointed.

Doyoung’s gaze slides to Jaehyun. “Jaehyun-ah,” he says. “Hi.”

Jaehyun dips his head. “Doyoung-hyung—”

“It’s come to my attention that I owe you an apology,” interrupts Doyoung, before Jaehyun has even risen from his bow. “I said things to you that I shouldn’t have said… and I shouldn’t have kept your call from Taeyong-hyung.” He sounds like it’s hurting him to say it, but not like he doesn’t mean it. Doyoung’s always been very kind to everyone, one drunken night notwithstanding. And any meanness was only meant in defense of Taeyong.

Jaehyun risks a look towards Doyoung’s date and finds Jungwoo grinning back at him behind his half brown and white dog mask. The man is even wearing a dog collar, complete with tags. When Jaehyun looks closer—and he can’t help himself; he’s kind of a trained cop—it reads “If lost, please return to Kim Dongyoung” and is followed with what looks like an actual phone number. When Jaehyun looks back at Doyoung, he can see Taeyong’s friend is blushing underneath his own mask.

“Well?” Doyoung says finally. “Do you accept my apology?”

Jaehyun is tempted to laugh at him, but he schools his features before Taeyong can do anything about it. “Of course, Do-Doyoung-hyung,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry too.”

Doyoung’s head tilts, ears tipping precariously on his head.

Jaehyun holds his breath, but the mask stays on. “For breaking Taeyong-hyung’s heart,” Jaehyun continues finally, not looking at anything but Doyoung.

Doyoung makes a tiny noise and for some reason looks at Taeyong—Jaehyun can see his eyes, flickering behind the holes in the rabbit mask, but Jaehyun doesn’t look away no matter how much he wants to—and then nods, smiling. “Yay,” he says. “Awesome. I missed having someone to talk to about all this.”

Jungwoo finally speaks up, bemused. “Hey,” he says. “You’re mom’s more famous than I am.”

“Your grandmother’s sister married a prince,” says Doyoung loftily, with a grin that shows just how long-standing this argument is. “Given a tragic accident, you could end up king.”

“I’m not even a Lee,” protests Jungwoo.

“You basically are,” says Doyoung. “I think they’d make an exception.”

“Does that make you queen, then?” interjects Jaehyun, and their heads swing to face him. He colors. “I just mean—Taeil-hyung’s been joking—”

“Oh, is Taeil-ssi here?” says Doyoung, very kindly ignoring the rest of that. “Let’s go say hi. I always liked him, and it was too bad that Taeyongie and Jaehyunnie—” Doyoung breaks off, stepping out of range from Taeyong quickly, and then drags Jungwoo off immediately.

Jaehyun stares, calling after them, “Wait, what do you mean you’ve _always_ liked him—how do you know Taeil—”

“Changmin!” Doyoung shouts back, and then is gone into the crowd.

Jaehyun is left staring after him, at a loss for words. “Changmin?” he says. “What does Changmin have to do with Taeil—”

“Jaehyun-ah!” says a voice, loud and joyous, and Jaehyun feels all of his muscles lock into place before he can stop himself. “And Taeyongie! Happy Birthday!”

Jaehyun turns with a smile waiting to face the head of missing persons, Jung-team jangnim, and stops. At his side, hidden behind his deer mask and even taller because of it, is Changmin. They’re holding hands. After a long pause, Jaehyun realizes they’re wearing _wedding bands_. He whirls to face Taeyong. “Wait,” he says. “No.”

Jung-team jangnim is glancing between the two of them curiously, but Jaehyun can see the moment Changmin figures it out. “Yunho-hyung, we should go—”

“Yunho-hyung!” repeats Jaehyun, gaze fixed on Taeyong. “You—your bodyguard is married to my boss!”

He’s really too loud for present company, because Jung-team jangnim takes a step back. “Technically I’m not actually your boss,” he starts to say, but Jaehyun ignores him, too busy feeling like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet.

Changmin.

Married to Jung-team jangnim. This whole time? This _whole time_?

“Did you do this on purpose?” Jaehyun continues, rounding on Taeyong in earnest now. “Have you been”—he feels the words bubbling up and knows they’re wrong but he can’t figure out how to stop them now that he’s started—“keeping _tabs_ on me?”

Taeyong’s expression flickers through emotions too quick to follow. “Would that be so awful if I was?” he snaps. “And for the record, _no_. They were together long before you started working in the same building.”

Jaehyun’s face feels hot but he stands his ground. “Still—”

“You are making a scene,” Taeyong interrupts, suddenly very close. “And not the good kind.”

Now that he mentions it Jaehyun can see they’ve got quite the audience, eyes fixed on them from all corners of the pavilion. He swallows. “Hyung—”

“It’s fine.” Taeyong’s expression is inscrutable behind the mask, which only makes things worse. “It’ll be useful for when we break up in a bit, right?”

Jaehyun winces, regretting the whole thing in earnest, now. “Hyung—” he tries to say again.

Taeyong takes him by the hand instead, tugging. “But not now,” he says. “Now you’re going to dance with me, because it’s my birthday, and that way we have an excuse to get you around the entire first floor.”

They pass Taeil, who’s wearing a rather on-the-nose moon-inspired mask, on their way. Taeil’s holding a tray, Johnny, Mark, and Donghyuck are all gathered around taking food off of it, but Jaehyun ignores all of his friend’s wide, shocked eyes, and takes up his position towards the center of the pavilion with is hands on Taeyong’s shoulder and waist.

After only a moment’s pause, Minhyuk clears his throat, and then someone who sounds like Taeyong’s sister hisses something unintelligible very close to the microphone before music starts playing. A waltz, or something. Several other couples join them on the impromptu dance floor.

“I’ll lead,” Taeyong says, and his tone is just frosty enough that Jaehyun knows better than to argue.

He swallows his pride, ignores the part of him that is screaming at him to apologize and fucking kiss Taeyong already, and does his best not to step on Taeyong’s actual physical toes. Not tromping all over the metaphorical ones is very clearly already a lost cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by that post on Tumblr about manufactured bed scarcity to get the girl, haha. And the wonderful masks that Vee drew! You may also notice it is now part of a series… There are going to be at least two (2) prequels set in the same universe, one of which I shared for #wipwednesday. 
> 
> Share this fic: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835)  
> Read the primer: [Tumblr](https://zimriya.tumblr.com/royalau)


	8. Eight

Jaehyun dances that first song with Taeyong, all the while feeling distinctly under the microscope despite being the one scrutinizing the crowd, and then Taeyong drags Jaehyun over to be properly introduced to what feels like the entire royal family. Technically it’s just Lee Sooman and his nieces and his grandnephew, but given that his grandnephew is the crown prince, Jaehyun feels solidly out of his depth. Thank God all of them are wearing masks. Thank God the king is otherwise indisposed. There’s meet-the-family, and then there’s meet-the-most-powerful-man-in-the-country.

“What’s your mask supposed to be?” asks Yoon Jihoon, with the precociousness only a royal fifteen-year-old could have, and Jaehyun is even more thankful most of his face is covered.

“A—a peach blossom—Hyung, I’m a little thirsty, if you don’t mind—” He turns a sunny smile on Taeyong and hopes he’s not being treasonously rude to the Wangseja himself, not sure if he should bow before leaving or what.

“A peach blossom,” repeats Jihoon, turning away from Jaehyun immediately. “And what are you, Taeyong-hyung?” He sounds remarkably judgmental for someone whose own mask appears to just be a store-bought comic book character—Iron Man, of all things. The faceplate is actually functional and Jaehyun thinks Park Chanyeol was seen wearing a larger, equally impressive version of the thing that past Halloween, but it still feels like a gross insult to the concept of a masquerade. Jaehyun might be sporting flowers and jewels, but at least he’s adhering to the theme.

Taeyong stares down at Jihoon with the patience of someone with a six-year-old nephew. “I’m a rose,” he explains, and then reaches out to brush his thumb along Jihoon’s cheek, wiping at nonexistent dirt. Jihoon pulls away, scowling, but Jaehyun gets the sense he doesn’t really mind. “If you’ll excuse us,” Taeyong continues, addressing the rest of his relatives. He dips his head, and Jaehyun follows suit, still so very much out of his depth.

“You are never allowed to do that to me again,” Jaehyun tells him as they walk away, heart racing. “That was awful—way worse than not knowing which fork to use.”

“We don’t even use forks,” Taeyong says, but he’s smiling—Jaehyun can hear. There’s no trace of amusement on his face when Jaehyun looks, however, and Jaehyun—

Jaehyun’s heart is still racing, but for different reasons, now. He has the urge to ask if Taeyong has already forgiven him. He has the urge to apologize. “Hyung,” he starts to say, but Johnny appears in front of them.

“Hey,” he says, not looking at Taeyong. “Do you mind if I cut in? Police business.” Taeyong very clearly does mind—Jaehyun can tell by the minute twitching of the muscle in his jaw—but he can’t prevent Johnny and Jaehyun from doing their jobs. That is why they’re all here, after all.

“Not at all,” says Taeyong, perfectly polite and composed.

Johnny smiles back, more than a little fake. “Great,” he says, and then he holds out his hands to Jaehyun.

Jaehyun blinks. “What?”

He’d thought Johnny would just take him to the side so they could talk shop, or something. Not… stand in front of him with his hands extended in a clear invitation for Jaehyun to dance with him. The muscle in Taeyong’s jaw is practically hopping now.

Jaehyun somehow finds his words. “You’re sure I’m not about to be put on some sort of royal hit list?” He flicks his gaze about the pavilion and locates Mark standing beside Donghyuck. They’re joined by their cousin Jeno, Zhong Chenle, whose father is a wealthy Chinese businessman, and Park Jisung—not famous nor the son of a chaebol, but best friends with Chenle nonetheless. Jaehyun knows they were dating back when he and Taeyong were, but he knows only very vaguely of their breakup from what Johnny’s accidentally let slip. Jaehyun can also see Donghyuck’s best friend and artist, Huang Renjun, and two-time-Olympic medalist Na Jaemin. Mark is laughing at something Donghyuck has said with his whole body; he doesn’t look like he’d kill Jaehyun for dancing with his boyfriend, but that doesn’t stop Jaehyun from making the joke.

Johnny just keeps holding out his hands. Jaehyun sighs and takes them.

“I’ll have him back after this song,” Johnny tells Taeyong, and then they’re off.

“You owe me for this,” Jaehyun says, watching as Taeyong passes behind one of the forty-eight pillars in his quest to get to the side of the pavilion—staying away from the water’s edge as instructed, however. Minchul’s a killer sniper, and they’re taking absolutely zero chances.

Johnny just hums, his hand surprisingly warm on Jaehyun’s hip.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” says Jaehyun. “Did you spot Minchul? Where is he—”

“No.” Johnny executes some sort of fancy turn around a stone pillar, and then levels Jaehyun a surprisingly mysterious look. “Just… you and Taeyong.”

Jaehyun feels dread start to bloom in the pit of his stomach. “Not you too.”

Johnny just keeps dancing, mouth infuriatingly quirked and eyes way too knowing. “You seem close,” he says.

“I’m here as his date,” Jaehyun deadpans. “It’s just acting.”

Johnny doesn’t seem convinced. “Mhmm,” he says. “And the bed sharing is just because you’re extremely method?”

Jaehyun’s cheeks and the tips of his ears burn, and he switches into English almost like a defense mechanism. “I didn’t realize my couch was a pullout.”

“Jaehyunnie, both Taeil and I have slept on it numerous times.” At least Johnny has abided by the language change as well, but he’s still talking about bed sharing, so Jaehyun isn’t entirely pleased.

“Yes, in hindsight, I am an idiot,” Jaehyun says, back to speaking Korean, and they garner a look from one of the couples nearby. It’s the nervous personal assistant and Taeyong’s not-aunt, because of course it is. “I can’t believe you dragged me onto the dance floor to talk about this.”

“I can’t believe you’ve been sleeping in the same bed with him and are still pretending you’re not dating him,” retorts Johnny. “Taeilie said you’ve both forgiven each other… what’s stopping you from confessing your undying love—”

Jaehyun hits him on the arm, hard. “What are you supposed to be?” he says, trying to change the subject. “Some sort of animal? Mark’s a lion, yeah? Aren’t you supposed to match?” Never mind that aside from Ten and Lucas, most of the couples at the party haven’t come as sets, Jaehyun and Taeyong included.

Johnny sighs, but Jaehyun stands his ground, staring. “I’m a bear,” Johnny says finally.

Jaehyun—Jaehyun decides he’s better off not commenting on that, but his mouth moves without his brain’s permission. “Is that some sort of statement—a _sex_ thing—”

Johnny has no shame, because he just snorts. “No, Jaehyun,” he says. “Some of us are perfectly capable of keeping the bedroom out of our work lives—”

Jaehyun is going to kill him.

“—I’m a bear,” Johnny says again. “Did you think I’d be something else?”

“A pain in my ass?” mutters Jaehyun, and then smiles brightly at Johnny’s inquiring hum. “A cat?” he offers. “ _Another_ lion?”

“We’re not technically out, though,” points out Johnny, grinning.

The song is ending, and soon Jaehyun will be free. “You’re at Taeyong’s royal ball _together_ , please,” he says. He rolls his eyes in time for the final beat and lets go of Johnny, who does the same. Neither of them step that much apart, though.

“We’re among _family_ —”

“I hope you don’t mind if I steal my date back, Suh-hyungsanim,” interjects Taeyong suddenly, coming out of nowhere and almost giving Jaehyun a heart attack. One of his hands settles onto the small of Jaehyun’s back almost in apology, his body warm against Jaehyun’s left side. The fact that he’s called Johnny detective hasn’t escaped either Jaehyun or Johnny’s notice, but Taeyong is utterly unrepentant underneath his mask. He’s close enough that Jaehyun could turn his head and get a faceful of the rose beside his eye..

Johnny favors Taeyong with a brilliant smile and finally steps back. “Not at all,” he says. Then he looks at Jaehyun with an unfair amount of purpose, given he’s mostly hidden behind his bear mask. “Think about what I said, yeah, Jaehyun-ah?”

Jaehyun smiles back at him, hoping all of his murderous intent shows through. Then he turns to face Taeyong, smile fading into something much less criminal when faced with the honest curiosity on his lovely face. Fuck, but Jaehyun would like to kiss him. Confess his undying love. He settles for approximating something of a bow. “May I have this dance?” he says.

Taeyong smiles. “You may,” he says, laying his hand on Jaehyun’s waist. “But only because I’m nice; your form was _awful_.”

“Not all of us had the benefit of royal dance lessons,” Jaehyun returns, but he’s grinning as well.

* * *

“So, what was that?” says Taeyong after the first measures of the song. “With Johnny-hyung, earlier.” The song is another waltz, but at a different tempo, and the entire thing feels… it feels like Jaehyun thought it would have when he was twenty-one and falling, dancing with a prince. It feels one step away from some sort of fairytale.

“Meddling,” Jaehyun decides to go with, because he has to answer, clearly. There’s a limit to how many times he can be saved from a conversation by someone asking him to dance, and Jaehyun has certainly reached it, at this point. “He, uh. He and Taeil-hyung have just been…” Jaehyun swallows, looking for the words. “Meddling,” he says again.

Taeyong just stares back at him for the next two counts of three, and Jaehyun nearly trips on the backstep. “Meddling,” Taeyong says. He looks at Jaehyun with the sort of intensity that has no place in a fairytale, and Jaehyun feels goosebumps start to break out on the skin of his arms.

“They think we’re even,” Jaehyun blurts, mostly to get Taeyong to stop staring. “Because I broke your heart, but you also broke mine.” Jaehyun doesn’t even stumble over the words this time, admitting it. That has to be progress. That has to be a good thing.

Taeyong’s steps are the ones that falter this time, but he somehow manages to make it look purposeful. Jaehyun knows well enough that Taeyong’s a good dancer—he went to school for that, after all—and that he’s just as good at grinding in a club as he is waltzing in a ballroom, but it still makes something pang in Jaehyun’s chest, that skill. It makes Jaehyun’s thoughts unsuited for a fairytale. He inhales.

“Huh,” says Taeyong. “I hadn’t thought about it like that.”

Jaehyun feels a nervous laugh start to bubble up in his chest—he is _not doing his job_. “Right?” he says, aware his voice has gone high and unable to stop it. “I hadn’t either!”

Taeyong just dances them around the floor for a few more counts of three. “It’s like a clean slate,” he says finally, and then, on his next step back, tugs with more force, so that Jaehyun goes stumbling forward and they nearly collide. Jaehyun’s no trained dancer, but his line of work requires him to be quick and light on his feet as well; they don’t touch, but they still end up much closer than Jaehyun thinks appropriate for the ballroom—for Gyeonghoeru Pavilion, among royalty and celebrities alike.

“Hyung,” he says.

Taeyong just keeps dancing, unconcerned with how close they are now. “It’s like we’re back to square one,” he says. To Jaehyun’s complete surprise, he flushes all the way to his hairline, what bits of exposed skin Jaehyun can see going pink. Jaehyun hates that he can’t see more of his face, because he has to settle for focusing on his mouth, and… now Jaehyun _really_ wants to kiss him.

“Taeyong-hyung,” Jaehyun says again.

“What would you do, with a clean slate?” Taeyong asks, weaving them around one of the pillars and then pulling them to a stop, helpfully with his back to the great cylinder of stone. Jaehyun wonders which astrological event this one is supposed to signify. “Jaehyunnie?” He shudders, listening to Taeyong say his name. “What would you do?” They’re still so close that Jaehyun can hardly breathe, even though there’s so much air—Taeyong’s breath puffing out alongside his own and leaving his lips chapped.

“I—” Jaehyun says, unable to look away from Taeyong’s mouth. He gives himself a shake, reminds himself that he is here to _catch a murderer_. “It’s not a clean slate, though,” he says.

Taeyong reacts as if he’d punched him. “It’s as good as,” he says, and Jaehyun knows him enough to know that he’s fucked up but he can’t—he can’t _fix it_ —he has to catch a murderer— “Because I—I forgive you, Jaehyun-ah.” Taeyong lifts his hands to the back of his mask and pulls it away from his face.

Jaehyun wants to shut his eyes. Taeyong’s blond hair is pushed off his forehead and his sister hasn’t forced him to wear foundation but he’s somehow even more wonderful, with the imperfections. Jaehyun stares at the spiderweb scar under his eyes and remembers hearing about where Taeyong got it from; thinks of other scars, more private and hidden, and what it felt like to put his lips on them and _suck_ , two breaths away from Taeyong’s hipbone.

“I forgive you for… for everything.” Taeyong said that a few nights before, in the dark of Jaehyun’s bedroom. When they came home from visiting Taemin. When they were alone, under Jaehyun’s covers, sharing Jaehyun’s pillows, lying close enough they could have been touching, and yet not. Jaehyun heard him then, felt the words resonate _then_ , but now… looking at him like this? It’s hard to breathe.

“And”—Taeyong’s voice breaks after the word but he keeps going—“you forgive me, too.” He swallows, throat bobbing, and the lack of mask makes him look somehow even more fragile. Though he’s never really been fragile. Not unless he wants to be. Not like Jaehyun, who was young, and stupid, and let the best thing in his life walk away. “For—Seulgi.” Taeyong’s mouth is pulling into an ugly parody of a smile and Jaehyun feels about two breaths from a nervous breakdown at the sight of it.

“I forgive you for everything.” Jaehyun reaches up and pulls off his own mask, heart pounding, and Taeyong’s eyes snap to meet his. “For—for breaking my heart. For… for letting me push you away.”

Taeyong’s eyes close, and then he raises his chin. “A clean slate,” he breathes. “Now.” His throat bobs again. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I—” Jaehyun knows where this is going—knew from the moment he saw Taeyong in Hong Eunsung’s mansion—but he pauses anyway, waiting. “I’d”—Taeyong’s eyes are slipping half-closed, his lashes fluttering—“kiss”—Taeyong shudders, mouth parting—“you,” Jaehyun finishes, already leaning… and then Sunny starts screaming.

“You—Samchon—Sooman-samchon—help— _he’s bleeding_!”

Jaehyun lets himself have all of half a second of very uncharitable thoughts about getting Taeyong to reinstate some of the more archaic forms of capital punishment so that he can have Park Minchul fucking _drawn and quartered_ , and then he gets his shit together and hurries towards the source of the panic.

He’s not the only one. Taeyong is practically on his heels, Lee Sooman has his own _security team_ , and there are enough palace guards and police officers stationed among the crowd that the entire situation starts to feel almost ridiculous. But then Jaehyun sees what’s happened, and it doesn’t anymore.

Lee Sooman is on his knees beside his niece, Sunny, and her friend, actor Ok Taecyeon. The two of them are in your standard masquerade masks, one pink and one metallic grey. For two seconds Jaehyun is almost having déjà vu, distracted by the fleeting thought of Lee Doyeon, not invited to this party, but co-star to Ok Taecyeon in a drama about… something. But then the rest of the scene comes into focus, and all other thoughts leave his mind. Lee Sooman is bleeding from what looks to be a shoulder wound, the white of his dress shirt rapidly going dark red. Sunny has fallen to her own knees in front of him, both hands hovering around the wound, and as Jaehyun watches, she grabs both of their masks, throwing them down onto the ground in the panic.

The security team is converging around him as well, more than a few of the celebrity guests are starting to panic, and Jaehyun doesn’t know if he would be more help rushing to aid the prince or scouring the crowd in search of their culprit.

Fuck, but they’ve let him slip past all of their nets—and onto a pavilion with _only one bridge_. That only one bridge is causing problems now. Jaehyun can hear Byoungjun-hyung yelling for people to clear the way and someone else hollering into a walkie talking requesting backup. Several people appear to be calling for an ambulance, and Jaehyun nearly runs into someone and has to halt abruptly. Taeyong does crash into him, but that’s fine. Jaehyun just turns, worry turning him sharp and serious, and holds him by the shoulders. “You’re okay—”

“I’m fine—Sooman-samchon—”

“Knife wound,” Jaehyun explains, still holding Taeyong by the arms and starting to scan the crowd, frantic. He notes when Taeil gets in range of the security team, notes that two of them are already bent down to assess the damage.

“He was aiming for the carotid but thankfully he missed!” someone says in Jaehyun’s ear, keeping everyone updated.

“The ambulance is on its way,” someone else adds.

“Did you tell them it’s _Lee Sooman_?”

“Of _course_!”

“Where’s The Dragon?”

“I’ve got The Dragon, we’re missing one of the Eggs.”

“Someone call for the boat—”

Jaehyun tunes them all out, eyes scanning guest after guest and discarding them. Some important businessman wearing a gold and green mask. Mark the lion. Yoon Jihoon in his Iron Man mask, standing all alone. A man six paces from the kid, wearing a suit, standing halfway to the bridge with his arm outstretched, looking at something. Ten and Lucas, Hades and Persephone looking like they’ve seen a ghost. Taeyong’s not-aunt and her extremely underpaid personal assistant. Wait. Jaehyun whirls back, fingers releasing from Taeyong’s arms.

“Jaehyun—”

The man isn’t looking for something. He’s looking at _Yoon Jihoon_. His fingers are curling around a _gun_ , and Jaehyun is moving before that thought can fully process. He puts finger on the button so that everyone can hear. “Gun!” he calls, going for his own, but then there’s not enough time. “Gun! Center of the pavilion, back to the bridge!” Jaehyun shouts again, running, and throws himself bodily between Park Minchul and Yoon Jihoon with a bang.

Everything happens in slow motion, after that. The bang isn’t just metaphorical. Jaehyun feels it like a heel to the chest. He falls, the air thrown out of his lungs, and behind him he hears Yoon Jihoon begin crying, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Park Minchul, holding the gun steady and meeting Jaehyun’s gaze with his own. The man looks for a brief moment _stunned_ , but then the reality of the situation seems to set in. His gun refocuses on Jaehyun for real this time, and Jaehyun feels something start to roar in his bruised, aching chest. “No,” he hears himself say. “No—I—I love you, Taeyong-ah—”

“Jaehyun!” That’s Taeyong’s voice, wild and panicked, and Jaehyun turns almost in slow motion to watch Taeyong throw himself down on the ground beside Jaehyun, frantic. His hands land on Jaehyun’s shoulders and his eyes can’t seem to focus but he’s gone and put his _back to the murderer_ , and Jaehyun is going to _kill him when this is over_. “Jaehyun—Jaehyun—no—please.”

“I’m fine,” Jaehyun forces out, sitting up painfully so that he can try to see. “I’m—bulletproof vest.”

Taeyong’s already tearing at the shirt and Jaehyun kind of wants to laugh, but he has the good sense to know that that would fucking _hurt_. He hopes he hasn’t broken a rib.

Taeyong puts surprisingly gentle fingers on the imprint from the bullet, but he doesn’t look any less panicked. “You idiot, what were you thinking?” he says.

Jaehyun snorts. “I was thinking I’d save your cousin’s life?” he says.

Taeyong’s eyes finally leave Jaehyun’s face, and Jaehyun wants to twist and see as well, but even doing that hurts. He must make a noise because Taeyong hushes him, already back to staring down at him. “Shh—he’s fine. Johnny-hyung’s got him.”

“I’ve got him,” Johnny says in his ear. “I’ve got him. You’re okay. Stay behind me.” Jaehyun hadn’t even realized that Johnny had been close enough to reach Jihoon, let alone aware—but he’d yelled gun, been yelling gun and been running, and all of them are trained. He pushes himself more upright despite Taeyong’s worry so that he can face down Minchul.

He hasn’t moved, standing with his right side to the bridge, gun still extended, unfortunately now pointing directly at Taeyong.

Something ugly flares to life in the center of Jaehyun’s chest. He forces himself to his feet, pulling Taeyong with him, and then thrusting the other man behind himself with only the aide of adrenaline. “You wouldn’t dare,” he says, staring their murderer down. He can see the other members of law enforcement in the background, weapons all drawn. He can see Byoungjun-hyung. He meets Minchul’s eyes.

“No,” Minchul seems to agree, the muzzle of the gun still terribly pointing at Jaehyun and Taeyong. But then he moves—so quickly Jaehyun almost _misses_ it—and it turns out Johnny and Taeyong weren’t the only one who’d come running to Jaehyun’s aid. When Minchul is done he’s got Mark in his grasp, one arm wrapped solidly around his chest, the other holding the gun right against his right temple. He’s got his back to the bridge now, clearly intending to use Mark as a human shield as a ticket out of the palace. Mark’s lion mask lies on the floor at their feet, and as Jaehyun watches, Minchul very deliberately stomps a foot onto it, snapping off part of the mane and caving in one of the eyes. He kicks the thing away when he’s done.

“Hyung?” Mark says, breathing very hard. “Johnny—hyung—” He stops talking the moment the gun drags closer to his eye, chest heaving.

From somewhere behind Jaehyun, Johnny makes an awful, pained gasp, and Taeyong starts to shake. “No,” Jaehyun hears them both say.

“Minchul,” Jaehyun says, raising his voice to be heard. He keeps one hand on Taeyong, wrapped around the man’s wrist even though the strain from doing so isn’t helping matters. His gun is like a brand against the small of his back, but there’s no time for him to draw; doing so might only exacerbate things. “You don’t want to do that.”

Minchul’s gaze snaps to Jaehyun’s, a surprising amount of awareness in his eyes. He’s not an idiot, Jaehyun reminds himself. Despite his continued insistence that the women in the royal family aren’t in line to inherit, Park Minchul was one of the military’s best and brightest, and he’s successfully managed to wound or kill five members of the royal family. And he’s managed to get into Taeyong’s birthday masquerade, which had been the point of the exercise, but still. Jaehyun would have thought that between them all, they’d have seen him coming.

“And why not?” Minchul says, voice low. He sounds… calm. Too calm.

Jaehyun starts sweating. He makes himself breathe. “Mark’s not in your way,” he says. “He’s twenty-fifth in line. Two people after Taeyong-hyung.” In the background, he can hear discussions happening among the excess of law enforcement on the pavilion, the snipers weighing in on whether or not they can take shots—they _can’t_ , not without going through Mark. There are more police on the other side of the bridge too, but Byoungjun-hyung orders them to stay put. Jaehyun tunes them all out.

Minchul’s gaze is sharper, but at least that show of emotion doesn’t translate to his gun hand. He hasn’t got a finger on the trigger, at least, which is only a small mercy. Jaehyun isn’t trained for hostage negotiation—never mind that the hostage is one of his friends and his best friend’s _boyfriend_. But he likes to think he understands at least a little. They’d all read the write up of the man’s profile. They’d all connected the dots. Medical leave. His father’s untimely death. The royal family’s part in that, however how inadvertent, however small.

Still.

Jaehyun can’t help but wonder how Taeyong plays into this, because Mark hadn’t been at the parade either. Jaehyun latches onto that like a lifeline. “Mark wasn’t in the country,” he says. “When your father died.”

Someone makes a noise; clearly Jaehyun shouldn’t have said anything about Minchul’s father.

“Jeong,” growls Byoungjun-hyung in his ear. “What are you doing?”

Jaehyun ignores him, focusing on Minchul.

Minchul’s hand is steady on the gun, but he still doesn’t go for the trigger. He just keeps watching Jaehyun with something different in his eyes. “What do you know about my father?” he says. He has a low, lovely voice. Jaehyun wouldn’t have expected for him to end up in the military. He’s not classically handsome, but he’s not exactly ugly, either. (Although from the photos, Jaehyun would say Minchul’s brother was the prettier one.)

Someone outside the tactical team talking into Jaehyun’s earpiece makes a noise, but Minchul shifts the gun so that the muzzle presses against the skin of Mark’s cheek before it can turn into speaking. “I’m talking to Jaehyun,” he says, and Jaehyun… fuck… he shudders, hearing his name. He shouldn’t. It’s to be expected that Minchul would know it. “Don’t interrupt. It’s rude.” Minchul drags the gun along Mark’s cheekbone and under the hinge of his jaw, letting it rest in the groove there between neck and shoulder. “That goes for you too, Lee Minhyung.” He wets his lips. “Twenty-fifth in line to the throne.”

Jaehyun releases his grip on Taeyong’s wrist, but keeps his arm behind him, closer to his gun. “I know that he died, and he shouldn’t have,” he says calmly. He can’t check to see where Johnny is, but he knows he’s got his back. Taeil’s still over by Sooman, as is most of his security team.

“He’s fine,” Taeil says in Jaehyun’s ear, somehow knowing exactly where Jaehyun’s eyes have gone. “He missed the major artery.”

“That was sloppy of me, really,” says Minchul, forcing Jaehyun’s attention back to center; he noticed Jaehyun was looking at Sooman too, fuck. “I was aiming for the carotid, and he moved.” His lips twist into something resembling a smile, and Jaehyun feels ice start to form in the pit of his stomach. There it is. The cracks in the façade—the proof that Park Minchul is on medical leave for a reason. “No matter.” Minchul presses the gun harder to Mark’s neck and puts his finger on the trigger; Mark whimpers, clearly not trying to, and shuts his eyes. “Shh,” whispers Minchul. “I won’t hurt you. You’re twenty-fifth in line.” He starts backing away, finger still on that trigger, a clear warning to all around that he means business and is not to be harmed on his way out.

Jaehyun feels the first creeping of panic start to bubble to the surface. “I know that you loved him,” he says—blurts.

Minchul freezes. His finger lifts off the trigger. Behind him, Jaehyun sees the paramedics arrive, having come via the boat—a speed boat, not one of the fancy royal things; they’d all insisted, and Taeyong’s sister had given in. Jaehyun swears inside because fuck if that’s not going to escalate things even more.

“I know you loved your father,” he says again, to keep Minchul’s eyes on him. “I know you weren’t there when he died.”

More noise from the peanut gallery, but Jaehyun will go to whatever mandated hostage negotiation training Byoungjun-hyung requires of him after this, as long as Mark survives.

In the back of his mind, he knows that the royal family is probably being ushered to the boats, all except Yoon Jihoon, who is still behind him with Johnny. That’s good. That’s the right thing to do.

“Jaehyunnie,” Taeyong breathes, between his teeth and doing his best to stay quiet.

“This way!” Sunny calls, a titan even in the face of the disaster.

Minchul seems to snap out of it upon hearing her, hauling Mark even closer and pressing the gun against his neck even harder. With a look somewhere behind at what has to be Johnny, he slides the thing right back up to Mark’s cheek, pressing and pressing until Mark makes another one of those frightened sounds, eyes shutting again.

“Mark,” Johnny says, coming to stand beside Jaehyun and Taeyong. Jihoon is nowhere to be seen. “He’s with Minseok,” he mutters, when Jaehyun glances at him. He doesn’t even look away from Minchul as he says it.

Minseok. Mark’s bodyguard. Right. Jaehyun slides his gaze back to Minchul, who seems to be even more high strung.

“Hyung,” Jaehyun warns out of the corner of his mouth. Behind him, Taeyong interlaces their fingers together and gives Jaehyun’s hand a squeeze.

“Mark,” Johnny says again, ignoring all of it. Mark’s eyes open, and while he doesn’t move, he does seem to find Johnny’s eyes. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Far be it for Jaehyun to make Mark even more afraid, but he’s clearly not alone in his disbelief, because Minchul snorts. “Is it?” he says, even as his eyes start to dart about the pavilion. What he’s looking for, Jaehyun doesn’t know.

“Yes,” says Johnny, with a surety that Jaehyun wishes he had.

In both of their ears, someone from NIS says something about still not having a clear shot. Minchul starts to move, tiny steps backwards that make Jaehyun’s heart pound.

“Minchul—hey, Minchul—look at me,” he says, ignoring Johnny and pulling free of Taeyong now. He takes a careful step forward, waits, then another. “It’s just you and me.” Minchul is staring back at Jaehyun, gaze fixed. Despite the clear tension in his body, his hand remains steady, gun solidly against Mark’s cheek. “What do you need?” Jaehyun continues, because he might not have been trained for this, but he does remember basic crisis management. “Tell me what you need—I’ll get it for you—I’ll help you. I’m listening.”

Minchul’s gaze flickers between Jaehyun and Johnny again, before resettling on Jaehyun. “ _You’re_ listening,” he says. “You—all of you.” The gun leaves Mark’s face briefly to wave around at the crowd, and while Jaehyun’s heart rate picks up because of that, he doesn’t fail to latch onto that moment of weakness like a leech. “You royal… _fuckers_ ,” Minchul continues, the cursing seeming at odds with his suit. He must have come in with the waitstaff because the mask that he’s wearing is a plain black infinity symbol around his eyes, but he must have slipped in earlier to stash the gun. “You’ll ‘help me.’” The man’s eyes are starting to look wild. “Where was your help last year?” Minchul starts moving again, not fast enough to be worrisome, but the gun is still held to Mark’s cheek. “Where was your help for my dad?” He hits a pebble and almost stumbles and Mark whimpers again, involuntary. Minchul’s eyes flick down to look at him, something terrible in his face.

Jaehyun can’t bear to even look at Johnny. “Is that why you killed them?” he says, to drag Minchul’s attention back to them. “Eunsung and Jaesung and Andy?”

Minchul’s lips start to curl. “I killed them because they weren’t fit to be king,” he says, like Jaehyun is incredibly stupid, and Jaehyun can tell he’s this close to losing him.

“But Taeyong is?” he says quickly, and Minchul’s eyes snap back to his. The gun starts to dip. “Taeyong is worthy?”

“ _Taeyong_ is a good person,” says Minchul, still like Jaehyun is an idiot, but instead of it feeling like the beginning of a fall down a slippery slope, this time Jaehyun feels like he’s gained ground. “ _Taeyong_ is fit to be king.”

“And not the rest of them,” says Jaehyun. “The rest of them—”

“The rest of them are not fit to be king,” Minchul says again, raising in volume now. “None of them. They’re all _bad people_ —”

Taeyong makes a noise from behind Jaehyun, taking a step so that he can look Minchul in the eyes, and Jaehyun wants to strangle him. “But I’m not?” he says, heedless of the danger he’s putting himself in. “Why? Because I wasn’t at some silly parade?”

Minchul’s staring at Taeyong now, but it doesn’t quite look like he’s seeing. “You were at an award ceremony honoring those who work to find missing children,” he says, with the tone of someone repeating an official new story. “Not here. At some ‘ _silly parade_.’” The quotations around the words “silly parade” are audible. “You were _helping_. You’re a good _person_.”

“And the rest of them aren’t… weren’t.” Taeyong speaks before Jaehyun can stop him, sounding like he’s swallowed a particularly bitter lemon when he makes the tense correction. “Eunsung. Jaesung. Andy. _Taemin_.”

Minchul still hasn’t put his finger back on the trigger, but the gun has stayed unwaveringly against Mark’s cheekbone. He laughs. “Do you know we’ve met before, Taeyong-ah?” he says, taking another step back and dragging Mark with him.

A chorus of voices sound in Jaehyun’s ear, but there’s still no clear shot.

“And Eunsung. Jaesung. Andy.” Minchul’s eyes sweep the crowd before ending up back on Taeyong. “Chanyeol.” He sounds particularly disdainful of the man in question, even though he’s not even in attendance. “You don’t remember.”

Minchul doesn’t seem angry about that, but Taeyong still flinches.

“It’s alright. You were only a child. It was 2009—Prince Yoon Jihoon’s doljanchi.” Minchul pauses, seeming to be thinking, and the arm around Mark’s chest shifts. “I don’t even remember why I was there. I’m nobody, you see. My dad was nobody.” His lips lift into a sneer. “Especially compared to Eunsung and Jaesung and _Chanyeol_.”

Jaehyun can only listen in horror, more than a little confused. They hadn’t considered a personal connection to the royal family. There hadn’t been any reason to.

“Still…” Minchul seems to be thinking, though his gun hand is unwavering. “They were children too. And I know you would never do this”—he pulls the gun away from Mark to gesture, but Jaehyun knows there’s still no way anyone is shooting him without shooting Mark, and Minchul knows it too—“if you weren’t made to. You would never throw a silly party.”

“Does that make you angry?” says Johnny suddenly, drawing Minchul’s gaze. The gun is still worryingly close to Mark but Minchul hasn’t got a finger on the trigger and it’s not pressed right up against skin and Jaehyun doesn’t know what Johnny is doing because this may be their only chance, but he’ll back him, even if he doesn’t quite understand. “Knowing that they were throwing a silly party while your father died?”

Mark seems to be calmer the longer Johnny talks, at least, breathing less shallowly through his nose.

“Knowing that they didn’t care or remember.” Johnny takes a step closer, and Minchul doesn’t step back.

“They were bad people,” he says again. “They were not fit to be king.”

“But Taeyong was,” Johnny says, another step closer. “Taeyong is. Because he was kind.”

“He wasn’t going around throwing parties and getting drunk all the time,” Minchul agrees, hand holding the gun giving another one of those waves—but bigger this time, much less contained; not purposeful.

“No,” Johnny says. “He was at school.” He pauses. “He was with Jaehyun—”

Minchul pulls a face. “Yes, well, there is that.” So that confirms why he didn’t come after Donghae, Jaehyun supposes. “But at least you didn’t marry him.” It seems Taeyong has learned after all, because he doesn’t say anything to that, and Jaehyun knows he must really want to. “At least you only had the one boyfriend.”

“It must have made you really angry when Lee Sooyoung announced he was going to be stepping down by the end of this year,” Johnny says, dragging the conversation back to Minchul’s anger—Jaehyun doesn’t understand. “It must have made you angry enough to _roar_.”

Johnny says “roar” in English, and Jaehyun has only a split second to register that fact, before Mark Lee—thin, unassuming, _held-hostage-by-gunpoint_ Mark Lee—slams his elbow back into the Minchul’s stomach, steps down hard on the top of Minchul’s right foot, smacks a palm right into the center of Minchul’s face—he connects with the man’s nose and there is a resounding _crack_ —and then slams a fist right between Minchul’s legs.

The gun hits the floor, Minchul sort of crumples around a pained groan, Mark throws himself bodily clear, aiming for Taeyong, as Johnny darts forward, his own gun fixed on Minchul, and kicks the man’s weapon away from them all. Someone from palace security comes forward and takes the thing, and twin red dots light up the front of Minchul’s chest to further emphasize how very much not in control of the situation he is.

Minchul stands, bleeding from his very clearly broken nose, and puts his head back so that he can meet Johnny’s eyes. He spits out blood, not looking away for one second. “Clever,” he says.

“Don’t move,” Johnny tells the man, keeping his gun trained on Minchul’s face. “Mark?” Johnny calls. “You okay?”

“Fine!” Mark says, voice mostly air. “Oh my God!”

As the adrenaline from the situation starts to wear off, Jaehyun becomes very aware of the fact that he got shot in the chest. His ribs _ache_ , as does every single muscle in his body on his right side, for some reason. Standing is starting to feel much less a good idea than it had when Minchul had a gun to Mark’s forehead.

“What?” Johnny says, voice very careful. “No more talking, all of a sudden?” He hasn’t got the muzzle of his gun touching Minchul, but from his tone, Jaehyun can tell he really wants to.

Mark’s still clutching a little frantically at Taeyong, but as the tension starts to diffuse and more people start to take control, he lets go. Jaehyun’s a little glad. It means that Taeyong has both hands free to grab him when he goes down onto his knees, biting back his pain.

“Jaehyun,” Taeyong says, voice high, but Jaehyun waves him off so that he can grit through it, forcing out air.

“I’m okay,” he says, glancing around Taeyong at the rest of the pavilion.

Yoon Jihoon is buried in his aunt’s arms, so Sunny didn’t leave with the rest of the immediate royal family; further proof the woman is deserving of being queen. Mark’s bodyguard Minseok is standing beside them alongside Taeil, although Minseok still looks particularly thunderous; probably because he’s not at Mark’s side.

As Jaehyun watches, Johnny pulls the gun away from Minchul’s face—the snipers do no such thing—and reholsters it at his back. He’s still wearing his bear mask, which Jaehyun almost wants to laugh about.

“Hey,” Jaehyun says, addressing Mark and Johnny both. “You stole that move from _Miss Congeniality_.”

Johnny pats Minchul down for more weapons, before pulling out his handcuffs. “What is it with you and Hollywood rom coms?” he says. “ _Notting Hill. Miss Congeniality._ ” He hauls Minchul’s arms back hard enough it has to hurt but given that the man held Mark at fucking gun point, Jaehyun doesn’t feel all that sorry.

“What can I say—I’m a romantic,” he tells Johnny instead, trying on a wry—if not somewhat pained—smile. Taeyong flutters his hands a little uselessly beside him, still hovering over Jaehyun. Jaehyun finds himself unable to look away from him, struck breathless, even though that hurts too.

“You’re okay,” Taeyong says quietly, not meant for other ears.

 _I love you_ , Jaehyun thinks, but doesn’t say. He clears his throat, gathering his thoughts. “It comes with being born—”

“On Valentine’s Day, we know,” chorus Johnny and Mark, and Jaehyun looks away from Taeyong’s beautiful eyes in time to watch Johnny trade their newly handcuffed prisoner off to a rather pissed looking NIS agent. Immediately afterwards he heads for Mark; when he gets there, he takes hold of Mark’s right hand and brings it to his lips in a kiss.

“Wow,” Jaehyun says, mock disgusted. “And you tried to shame me.”

Johnny just flips him off, mouth still pressed to Mark’s hand.

“That’s so romantic,” someone breathes—some woman Jaehyun doesn’t know, hiding behind a silver mask. Speaking of masks… he threw his down when he leapt for Minchul, and he winces. Taeyong’s sister put a lot of work into those. (And they’d been pretty. Nice. Made the two of them look like a royal couple.)

“Are you sure you’re okay?” says Taeyong in response to the look on Jaehyun’s face, and Jaehyun manages a smile.

“Yes—”

“Wow,” says a voice, interrupting them all, and Jaehyun turns in time to see Taemin, seated in a wheelchair wearing his own stunning dog mask. “What did I miss this time?”

And Jaehyun shouldn’t… but he looks at Taeyong, still a little frayed around the edges, and then at Mark and Johnny, who are definitely two seconds from more than embracing, and then back to Taemin, who’s missed it all. Jaehyun laughs, and Taeyong laughs with him.

“What?” says Taemin, head tilting to the side. “Don’t tell me I’ve missed it _all_ and you already got him.”

“Guilty!” calls Johnny, pulling away from Mark to raise a hand. “It’s what you get for coming so late!”

Taemin is smiling. “Blame Kibum-hyung,” he says, and his friend peeks around from behind him with a scowl. His mask is a fox, and it is—as expected—probably the most beautifully designed one here. “ _Someone_ failed to mention it was a masquerade—”

“It was on the invitation.”

Taemin waves a hand.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t read it.”

Jaehyun tunes them both out, catching Taeyong’s eyes. “Hey,” he says. “ _You’re_ okay too, right?”

Taeyong smiles back at him. “Yeah.” He pauses. “But you should probably”—he waves a hand—“hospital.”

Jaehyun opens his mouth to protest, but then thinks better of it. “Definitely,” he says.

* * *

Jaehyun has one broken rib, his name in the papers, and doctor-ordered leave for the next few weeks until he heals. At the hospital he gets an X-Ray, is prescribed pain killers and ice, and then is sent home. Minchul gets a court date, charged with multiple counts of murder, etc., and Jaehyun breathes easier (metaphorically only) because it’s all _done_. Solved. He can go home to the apartment he no longer needs to share with Taeyong and _sleep_ for days, at ease, because everything has been resolved. He tells himself that’s exciting news. He tells himself that’s what he _wanted to happen_.

The real shocker of the situation is Johnny, who becomes something of a national celebrity in the following days. This is both due to him being the one to cuff and pat down Minchul (someone at the party was livestreaming the entire debacle) and due to him being romantically involved with the real hero of the hour, Mark Lee. The media runs an entire expose on Prince Lee Gun (1893–1953), Mark, Taeyong, and Donghyuck’s great-grandfather and younger son of King Lee Hyuk (1853–1919), as part of their coverage of the story. There are hashtags on SNS. _Fancams_. Someone discovers Mark’s personal (and totally _not approved by the royal security team_ ) Twitter account from when his family was living in Canada, and he gains nearly a million followers before he can get in and lock it. Taeyong gets press too, given his central role in the case, but Mark’s the one who made the man S.I.N.G., as it were.

Tragically, Jaehyun, Taeil, and the rest of Violent Crimes Team Two aren’t exempt from the limelight. It’s just that Mark and Johnny are clearly much more sellable, to the point where even Taeil seems a little bit upset. He shuts up really quick when Johnny makes a comment about there being plenty of royals to go around, which… Jaehyun makes a note to follow up on that when he’s not apartment bound.

Of course part of that is because Mark and Johnny are pushed to the forefront of the news coverage on purpose. There were other things that came out in Minchul’s interrogation, like how he _was_ in attendance at Yoon Jihoon’s doljanchi and how he believes he _is_ distantly related to Lee Hyuk as well, by a bastard daughter named Lee Lin. None of _that_ shows up in the press, and Jaehyun accepts that it’s above his paygrade.

The whole thing is something of a media circus nightmare, which continues well into the next week, when Johnny and his ever-present royal shadow show up at Jaehyun’s apartment to make sure Jaehyun hasn’t died. Jaehyun watches Johnny refill his water bottle and fluff his pillows, all while trying to figure out how Johnny feels about the whole thing. He’s heard talk that they’re going to get Johnny his own personal security—at least until the frenzy has died down.

“So is this going to be a problem, you being the next big thing and Mark getting all this media attention? I know you’ve never been the biggest fan of being in the news,” Jaehyun says finally, and Johnny nearly bites his head off.

“Don’t—” he starts to say, then abruptly cuts off in the middle of the word to cast a hurried glance in the direction of Jaehyun’s kitchen. Mark has been standing there the entire time Johnny was fussing over the state of Jaehyun’s blankets and cushions, staring fervently at Taeyong’s Venus flytrap. Hank hasn’t done much of anything in response, although Jaehyun swears the thing is preening, a little. Maybe it knows it’s in the presence of royalty—or at least someone related to Taeyong. “Don’t say that,” Johnny finishes in a whisper, glancing at Mark again. “I— ” His cheeks are pink and he stutters a little. “Marriage. With him.”

 _Oh_. Jaehyun’s not sure how he’d missed that they were that serious. Or rather, Jaehyun knew they were that serious, just… “Really?” he says, inclining his head towards Mark as well. “ _Now_ —”

“Yes, Jaehyun, I’ve always dreamed of proposing to my boyfriend of four years in the shitty apartment you and Sicheng made me decorate,” says Johnny, far louder than Jaehyun would have thought he’d have wanted to, given _Mark is in the apartment_. “ _No_ , not right now,” Johnny continues. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Jaehyun scowls. “Hey—don’t be mean—I’m an invalid.”

“It’s one rib,” Johnny says. “You know we’ve both had worse.”

Jaehyun has to concede that point. “Whatever,” he says. “I just mean—you’re awfully candid about—about—”

“About my plans to one day propose to Mark?” says Johnny, still in that same, too-loud tone. “What?” Jaehyun’s surprise must be showing on his face, because Johnny keeps right on talking. “Not everyone keeps their emotions as close to their chest as you do, Jaehyun-ah. Mark and I _have_ actually talked about things like the future.”

Jaehyun wishes he wasn’t laid up on his couch, doped up on painkillers, and nursing a broken rib. “No—I—that’s not what I mean—” Johnny is looking at Jaehyun in a way that is far too knowing, so Jaehyun decides he’s better off just shutting up while he’s ahead. “Thank you for checking up on me, but I’m fine, now. You can leave.” He puts on his most brilliant smile immediately afterward, and Johnny gets a look in his eye like he’s going to be an asshole and punch Jaehyun right in the still bruised, broken side.

Instead, his friend sighs. “Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun does _not_ want to talk about it. “Johnny-hyung.”

Johnny sighs again. “Mark?”

Mark turns immediately, an automatic brightening to his eyes that makes Jaehyun’s chest hurt for reasons not related to his healing ribs. “Johnny-hyung.” Mark comes over to join them. His cheeks are a little pink, but he faces Jaehyun with all the dignity of his good breeding anyway. “Jaehyun-hyung.”

Jaehyun nods back up at him, fighting a yawn. It’s barely midday, but he’s already feeling the effects of the painkillers. Johnny keeps speaking—going on about how Jaehyun is daring to kick them out, so Jaehyun rolls his eyes a little just because it’d be weird if he didn’t—but Jaehyun is _tired_ , drugged up and still very sore. Broken ribs are always the worst, because movement hurts, and breathing is the most necessary movement of them all.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and Jaehyun ends up meeting Mark’s eyes. Mark stares back at him. “This is Taeyong-hyung’s Venus flytrap,” he says. He’s pointing at Hank, as if Jaehyun has any other Venus flytrap Mark could be talking about.

Jaehyun meets his gaze full on. “Yes,” he says calmly. He’s not embarrassed about it, or anything.

Mark flushes a little more. “Why do you have Taeyong-hyung’s Venus flytrap?”

Jaehyun keeps meeting his eyes. “He didn’t give it to me, if that’s what you’re asking.”

At least he’d better not have. Taeyong had been whisked back to the palace pretty much immediately after catching Minchul, then paraded in front of the press with the rest of them. Presumably he’d sent Changmin or someone to collect all of his clothes and other belongings when Jaehyun was busy getting prodded in the hospital, because the place was spotless when Jaehyun had gotten home. The only things Taeyong had left behind were Hank and his toothbrush, left in the cup by the sink next to Jaehyun’s.

Jaehyun had something of a breakdown the first night when he found it, his brain pinwheeling between the fact that Taeyong had _left his toothbrush in Jaehyun’s apartment_ and the more likely possibility that Taeyong had simply brought a spare one with him to Jaehyun’s, like a ball in a tennis match. Never mind that Jaehyun had been present when Taeyong was gathering his things and he most certainly _hadn’t_ —Jaehyun was pretending not to know that fact, simply to avoid further breakdowns.

He’d very carefully not been thinking about the fact that he hasn’t seen Taeyong since his birthday. He’d very carefully been avoiding staring too long at the news coverage of the crime. He watered the Venus flytrap, annoyed to realize the thing had grown on him, and done his best not to wonder if Taeyong would be coming back for it.

Surely he would.

Doyoung had given it to him for his twenty-seventh birthday.

That was worth returning for, even if Jaehyun—apparently—wasn’t.

Jaehyun swallows. “I’m ninety percent certain he’s going to come take it back,” he says softly, aware that it has been _days_ —almost one week. Both Mark and Johnny are looking at him with something close to pity in their eyes, and Jaehyun _hates_ it. “Anyway—”

He’s saved further humiliation by the ring of his doorbell, followed by a cautiously raised voice. “Jaehyun-ah?” It’s… it’s _Taeyong_ , and Jaehyun lets the rumble of his voice hit him right in the chest, somewhere to the left of his broken rib. “I—it’s—Taeyong.” Taeyong sounds _awkward_ , and Jaehyun doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

“Make that one hundred percent certain,” he says, more to himself than to Mark and Johnny.

Mark makes a noise, but Johnny slaps a palm over his mouth before he can say anything. “And that’s our cue to leave, thanks for having us, Jaehyunnie,” he says—loudly, but not so loud that Jaehyun has to flinch painfully back against his cushions. He does so anyway, but that’s more because Johnny has started to the door, tugging Mark along with him. “Don’t get up—rest—I’ll get it—Taeyongie!” Johnny releases Mark so he can pull open the door. “We were just leaving.” He puts his feet into his shoes and Mark does the same. He faces Jaehyun. “Stop ignoring Taeil’s calls,” he says, gently nudging Mark forward until Taeyong has no choice but to step aside so they don’t collide in the hallway. “He really does worry about you. You have like one go-to recipe.”

Jaehyun flips Johnny off. “Tell him to change my name in his phone first!” he tells him, and Johnny laughs, turning back to Taeyong.

“Taeil changed Jaehyun’s name to ‘Princess Jaehy’—”

“Get out of my house, Suh Youngho!” Jaehyun shouts, ears feeling like they’re on fire, and Johnny cackles some more, but does. The door starts to close after him, but Taeyong reaches out to grab it, looking more than a little shell shocked, and steps inside. He pauses again right in the doorway, but Jaehyun only has to blink at him a few times before he takes off his shoes. Once he’s done, he gestures.

“I’m just—Hank,” Taeyon says, crossing the floor so that he can pick up the plant in question. Jaehyun stares at him, carefully not mentioning the toothbrush. “How are you doing?”

“Right,” Jaehyun says. Taeyong smiles back at him, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m… good. And you?”

“Oh, you know,” says Taeyong, which Jaehyun is a little miffed about because he _doesn’t_ —he wouldn’t have asked otherwise. Taeyong’s cheeks flush for a quick second, and he shifts his hold on Hank’s pot. “Busy,” he offers, like something of an apology. He hasn’t left, but he’s still way too far away. “It turns out when a guy decides to kill a bunch of people just to put you on the throne, everyone wants to talk to you.” He smiles, a brittle, tiny thing. “But Mark’s been good. Happy.” The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Donghyuckie, too.” His hands go to his hair, which Jaehyun hates to admit might somehow look better dark than it had when it was any of the fantasy colors, or even just bleached blond. “My dad is _thrilled_. I’m the most popular royal after Mark, not counting the crown princesses.” That last bit sounds like a soundbite, and Jaehyun winces, which hurts when his ribs pull.

“Ah,” Jaehyun says.

“Yeah.” For a second Taeyong looks like he wants to say something more, but then he seems to think better of it, tightening his grip on the pot, and turning to face the door.

Jaehyun… decides he’ll let him. That’s the right thing to do… isn’t it?

“Hey, Jaehyunnie?” Taeyong doesn’t turn around, but he doesn’t reach for the door or put on his shoes. “Don’t be a stranger, okay?” he says, even though he was the one who vanished for nearly five days. “Call me sometime? I’m sure we’ll have to help plan a wedding together at some point.” He pauses. “That is how they do it in Chicago, right? _Plan_ a wedding?” He waits, clearly expecting Jaehyun to just agree, but then… Jaehyun doesn’t want to just agree.

“Aren’t you going to ask me again?” he says.

Taeyong’s shoulders seem to stiffen even more. Very slowly, he turns back around. “Ask you what?”

Jaehyun looks back at him—at every perfect, beautiful part of him, and feels woozy, but not from the painkillers. “You’re just a boy, standing in front of a boy,” he says softly.

Taeyong’s cheeks go _pink_. “Shut up,” he says, hands white knuckled around the potted plant. “ _I_ didn’t actually say that—”

“Ask me, Taeyong-hyung,” Jaehyun interrupts.

“Why?” whispers Taeyong. “So you can make fun of me?”

Jaehyun’s brow furrows. “When have I _ever_ —”

“You’re right—I’m sorry”—Taeyong waves a hand, interrupting Jaehyun’s protests—“so you can tell me ‘no,’ again, I mean—sorry.”

Jaehyun frowns at him, not really hurt, but still a little taken aback. Taeyong must see that on his face, because he crosses and sets the plant down on Jaehyun’s coffee table. He finally comes to stand in front of Jaehyun, but there’s no fussing, no effusing, no… pretense. It’s just Taeyong and Jaehyun, metaphorically eye-to-eye.

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says a second time. “I’m just—nervous.”

“Why?” Jaehyun breathes. He can’t help but take him in—pick out the little signs of wear and tear behind the royal veneer and feel… protective. He’s been telling himself it’s just because he’s a cop and its job to keep the entire world safe. He’s been telling himself he wouldn’t let the world burn to keep _Taeyong_ safe.

“Why do you want me to ask you again?” Taeyong says. His hands almost… shake.

Jaehyun tilts his head up so that he can better look at him; exhales something painful. “Ask me again, Taeyong-ah,” is his answer, more his own question, really.

Taeyong’s lashes flutter. He licks his lips. He steps even closer, so that his shins meet the front of the couch, the blanket the only thing between his and Jaehyun’s knees. “Jaehyun,” he says. He looks like he’s having trouble searching for the words, but when Jaehyun moves to speak, his eyes get stormy. “I know… things are tough… right now.”

Jaehyun starts to blink. “Wha—”

“I know the press is wild… right now,” Taeyong keeps going, and Jaehyun—Jaehyun forgets how to breathe.

Taeyong doesn’t look any better, twin points of heat on the tips of his ears and nervous energy in the flutter of his hands. He looks like he wants to put them in his pockets—like he had before, three years ago, when they had this exact conversation—but he doesn’t this time, just keeps them hanging anxiously at his sides. _The better to hold you with_ , Jaehyun thinks, some terrible parody of a nursery rhyme, and swallows back his own words. Had he interrupted, the first time? Had Taeyong looked quite so close to breaking? Jaehyun can’t remember.

“People talk,” Taeyong says, a battered, beautiful sentence. “But they’ll get bored.”

Jaehyun remembers _that_ bit. What he’d said in response to it. _You mean_ you _will_ , he’d snapped, twenty-three and stupid, willing to cut out Taeyong’s heart right along his own for something so insignificant as fear.

“But you and me…” Taeyong is definitely maybe close to crying and Jaehyun hates that he’s trapped on this couch and can’t go to him, can’t do more than lean towards him like a plant seeking the sun.

“Hyung,” he says, abruptly aware that _he’s_ close to crying now, and wondering if he can blame it on the drugs, because what the fuck; Jaehyun doesn’t cry— “Hyung—”

“It doesn’t matter, right?” says Taeyong, word for _fucking word_ the same—how long had been thinking about that moment, reliving that moment, ruing it as he’d never rued anything before, no question about it—with a smile that Jaehyun _doesn’t remember_ , because he hadn’t been looking, had been too busy making fucking _coffee_. “All of that is just… other people’s nonsense. Inconsequential. Nothing to do with you and me.”

“I take it back,” Jaehyun says, a hoarse, terrible thing, definitely blinking away salt now and angry about it; he’s going to have to call and yell at his ER doctor because they said he shouldn’t have any side effects beyond the bruising and general pain and this certainly counts as a side effect (never mind that if it is, Jaehyun wouldn’t trade it for the world if it means he gets to keep _Lee Taeyong_.) “Don’t ask me again—you fucking _sap_ —”

“You and me… we’re good… right?” Taeyong finishes, with another smile. This one is much less shy, almost apologetic, and Jaehyun hates that he can’t just get up and kiss him.

 _You and me… we’re good… right?_ Taeyong said, and Jaehyun _didn’t answer him,_ just _kept making coffee_ ; let him _walk away_.

“Sorry,” Taeyong says. “Was that too much—I thought—”

“Shut up,” Jaehyun says, sort of a mess. “And you used to make fun of me for being born of Valentine’s Day—come here—”

“It does rather explain your thing about romantic comedies,” Taeyong says fondly, looking at Jaehyun like he’s the entire world. He’s _too far away_.

“You—come _here_ , you bastard—”

Taeyong presses forward and bends to take hold of Jaehyun at the hinge of his jaw, somehow not colliding them nose to nose. “Jaehyun-ah, that’s treason,” he says, right up against the skin of Jaehyun’s cheek. “At least I think—I must admit I’m a bit distracted—”

“You need to stop talking like you’re the crown prince,” Jaehyun cuts him off before he can finish; it’d be lying to say without any trace of desire.

“Why, does it bother you?” Taeyong’s eyes are like liquid heat. “To my memory it was quite the opposite—” He breaks off on a hiss when Jaehyun lands a hand on Taeyong’s throat. Jaehyun had been aiming for the shoulder, but he’s certainly not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I have a broken rib,” he says, very careful to enunciate. “You absolute royal _bastard_ —”

Taeyong makes a noise, retreating away from Jaehyun’s mouth so suddenly that Jaehyun nearly pitches forward—and _ow_ , does that hurt. “Shit, you do,” says Taeyong, hands in the air back to their fluttering and fussing. “Do you need ice? I can get you ice—or painkillers—”

“Taeyong-hyung.” Taeyong stops talking at the look on Jaehyun’s face, and his cheeks burn. “If you do not kiss me _right this instant_ I will arrest you—”

“Jaehyunnie… that’s…”

“What?” Jaehyun dares him to object with a raised eyebrow. He holds out a hand until Taeyong comes back in close, plants a hand on the arm of the couch so he can better lean into him.

“You’re sure?” Taeyong says, right up against Jaehyun’s mouth, and Jaehyun is going to build a time machine so he can go punch his younger self for doing this to him— “Stop that.” Taeyong’s words drag Jaehyun’s attention right back to present. “I’m in love with him too—”

“How do you—”

Taeyong just grins at him. “Royalty,” he says, like that explains _anything_. “But you are sure—”

“I love you,” Jaehyun says, just to watch Taeyong shudder—and because he does, has since he was just the Book Guy, young and new and green.

“Oh,” Taeyong says. “Good—”

“Taeyong,” Jaehyun says again.

“Right,” Taeyong says, eyes flickering between Jaehyun’s mouth and own. “Your ribs, though.”

“You can get me ice after,” says Jaehyun, trying valiantly to maintain a straight face; he does really want that kiss after all.

“R-right,” Taeyong says again with only mild stutter, and Jaehyun sighs. He takes hold of Taeyong by the wrist and tugs, heedless of the twinge in his chest at the movement, and then arranges them both on the couch in something approximating peace. Then he gets out his phone, which had fallen somewhere between the couch cushions, and sets it on the arm of the couch. “What are you doing?” Taeyong says, after a pause.

Jaehyun just keeps poking and prodding at his lock screen. He hopes Taeyong notices that it’s Gyeonghoeru Pavilion, all lit up at night. “Waiting for them to call to let me know Park Minchul has broken out of prison, thus preventing you from kissing me _again_ —”

For two terrible seconds, Taeyong just stares at him—and Jaehyun feels horror start to ice his veins—but then he breaks, turning away from Jaehyun to try to hide the snickers. Jaehyun glares at him. “Jaehyun-ah,” he says.

Jaehyun _glares_. “I take it back,” he says, embarrassed. “You’re not the love of my life after all—”

“Love of your”—Taeyong has the audacity to sound _touched about it_ , but then then he’s shifting to cover his face when Jaehyun reaches for a pillow to throw in his face—“your _ribs_ —”

“If you’re not going to give me an excuse to be out of commission for longer I might as well do it myself—”

Taeyong makes an odd, sputtering noise, and captures Jaehyun’s hands with his own, stilling the pillow right between them. “Jaehyunnie.”

“I love you,” Jaehyun says again. “Why won’t you _kiss_ me—” His sentence breaks in the middle when Taeyong does just that, a darted, quick little press of lips against Jaehyun’s own—something tame, way too quick, almost platonic. He’s back before Jaehyun can start to protest the chasteness in full, though he does still seem to be muttering about how Jaehyun is the love of his life as well, in case that wasn’t clear. “Taeyong-hyung,” Jaehyun says, pulling away from him and giving in to the urge to pout.

Taeyong hauls him right back in—gently—with a smile that fully reaches his eyes. “I know, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to get arrested.”

Once Jaehyun is done kissing him he really is going to find a reason to put him in cuffs and drag him down to the station. Maybe. Probably. Hopefully. Or just to the bedroom—that works too. But for now, Jaehyun is content to luxuriate in it all: the press of Taeyong’s mouth, the warmth of his tongue, the beat of his heart in sync to Jaehyun’s own.

There’s no rush, no looming murder mystery, no places they need to be.

They’ve got all the time in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all she wrote! (Minus the epilogue and prequels.) I just want to say to Aixing: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. I had so much fun making up this story with your guidance. I learned so much about the law! And also crime, lol. May you ctrl+Kyuhyun to your heart's content XD. Also, to Fox/Vervains: I hope you enjoyed your gift fic! I had such a blast working with your prompt. Thank you for being my giftee, haha. 💚
> 
> Share this fic: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835)  
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> ~~  
> [p.s. did anyone see i am writing _werewolves_ —](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1359514414165147651)  
> ~~


	9. Epilogue

It’s Friday and Jaehyun is late, showing up at the precinct well past his usual time with his hair still damp from the shower. His shirt is a little wrinkled and he really doesn’t have a free hand, but he stops to grab coffee for Taeil and Johnny anyway. Old habits die hard, and he’d hate to be anything less than predictably obnoxious. He nods briefly at Jiwoo when he runs into the man on his way towards the desk and Jiwoo nods back but doesn’t say anything else; they’ll never be friends, but they’re long past all the unnecessary posturing of the past year.

Johnny and Taeil are both already at their desks when Jaehyun gets there with the mugs. He sets them down, one by one, and pointedly does not look at either of them, but it’s a worthless endeavor.

“Taeil,” says Johnny, the first to spin around in his chair so that he can regard Jaehyun with the full force of his gaze. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

Taeil spins in his own chair, as if on cue. “That depends,” he says. “Are you seeing Jeong, soon to be Lee, Jaehyun?”

Jaehyun debates poisoning both of their coffees—blatantly, and without any attempt at subterfuge. “Haha,” he says. “You must both think you’re so funny.”

“Oh, for sure,” says Johnny immediately, grinning. “But can you blame us?” When Jaehyun finally raises his head to glare, Johnny lifts his left hand and gives all five fingers a wiggle, resembling a man casting a spell more than a police detective teasing his coworker for getting engaged. To make matters worse, Johnny is, of course, wearing his own bit of ring-finger jewelry and really needn’t have gone out of his way to mime. It’s almost funny. Jaehyun is still annoyed… and embarrassed.

(And pleased. Jaehyun is foremost oh so very, very pleased.)

“No one will be taking anyone else’s name,” is what he ends up saying, because arguing the rest would be even more pointless than trying to stave off the conversation to begin with. “You’d think you’d know that, given.” Jaehyun lifts his own hand in a parody of spellcasting and takes a bracing sip of his coffee. As always, the stuff tastes foul, but Jaehyun finds he doesn’t really care.

He’s just so happy.

“Oh, that’s a good point—he’s got you there, Johnny,” says Taeil, sounding positively gleeful at the prospect. Johnny glares, but Taeil just keeps going. “Although what was it you were saying about having your own wedding in Chicago—”

“My _mother_ told me she would disown me if I didn’t,” interjects Johnny stiffly. “But you are changing the subject—”

“I believe the subject was the upcoming nuptials of one of the three of us to a prince of Korea,” says Jaehyun happily, with only a minor amount of giddiness around the start of that sentence. (The prince of Korea. Lee Taeyong. Married. To _Jaehyun_.) “You fit that bill too, Hyung.”

He sits down in his chair at the end of that sentence, heart beating something fierce. Somehow, he’s not smiling. How is it he’s not smiling? Surely, he’s been smiling nonstop since Taeyong got down on one knee? That’s what his mother said, when he Facetimed her with the news—that Jaehyun couldn’t seem to stop smiling, and also, was he in Gyeongbokgung, and would he mind showing her the throne room?

“Ugh, gross,” says Taeil, glancing between Jaehyun and Johnny both. “I just realized I’m about to be the only one of us who’s single—” Johnny opens his mouth to comment and Taeil preemptively shoves a tissue into his mouth, looking even more disgusted. He also looks a little pink, but Jaehyun’s still too buoyant to comment.

Instead, he busies himself with his desk, settling his papers and booting up his computer with a neat tap against the power button. His cheeks hurt, and when he reaches up to touch—there it is. The smile. Jaehyun feels like he could power several suns with the force of his smile.

“Ew, you’re right,” says Johnny. Jaehyun looks up, and he’s scowling, softness hiding behind his eyes and ruining some of the effect. The tissue is gone from his mouth. “That is gross.” Johnny puts an arm around Taeil and pulls the other nearly out of his seat.

“No, you’re _both_ gross,” says Taeil, shrugging free of Johnny’s hold and shoving him away with a scowl. Johnny sticks his tongue out at him, still smiling. “Well?” Taeil turns an expectant gaze on Jaehyun. “Let’s see it.”

Jaehyun blinks. “See what?”

Taeil’s the one doing the summoning fingers now, but very quickly he turns his hand so that his intentions are clear. He’s the only one of the three of them without an engagement ring, but somehow, he gets the point across most effectively.

Jaehyun feels something warm bubble up inside his chest. “Oh,” he says, reverent and careful. “Here.” He sticks his hand out for both of them to see and feels… shy.

It’s not like it’s a big deal, the ring. It is because it’s _the ring_ , of course, but _culturally_ … It’s less of a big deal. He and Taeyong had been wearing couple rings long before this moment—Taeyong wanted them to get them right away once they got back together, but Jaehyun drew the line at that, maintaining that their three years apart had been necessary and should not be erased. He and Taeyong had been moved in together months before this moment; fought viciously over whose place they’d be keeping, before deciding to cut their losses and get their own brand-new place together. He and Taeyong had also gotten ideas into their heads after Johnny got engaged to Mark, but that was a given.

They did weddings differently in America and even though Johnny didn’t actually manage to get down on one knee after all (not for a lack of planning), Mark still kept to tradition. Poor Taeyong had been forced to watch a number of Hollywood movies in preparation, all the while texting Jaehyun things like, `Did you know they don’t have wedding halls in America?` and, `Bachelorette parties sound fun. We should do one for Mark`, and finally, simply, `B-B-B-Benny and the Jets`, written in English.

Jaehyun sent him back, `I think Johnny-hyung covered that yes`, and, `I think in that case it would be a Bachelor party?` and also, `How dare you watch 27 Dresses without me.` Then when he got home, he subjected Taeyong to all of two seconds of pouting before allowing himself to be won over with kisses.

Jaehyun’s ring isn’t a giant diamond or anything else he’d come to expect from the movies, but it’s still _an engagement ring_ , and Taeyong really hadn’t spared much expense. He is, after all, an heir to the throne.

“Pretty,” Taeil says, after Jaehyun holds out his hand for appraisal. “Much prettier than yours, Johnny—”

“Hey!” Johnny says, mock hurt. “I’m telling Mark you said that—”

“Please, no,” Jaehyun and Taeil groan in unison, and then exchange very quick high fives right in front of Johnny’s face. Taeyong might have been the one forced to watch movies, but Jaehyun and Taeil had been the ones forced to go ring shopping, since they knew Johnny best. Mark Lee is many things—sweet, desperately and terribly in love with Johnny Suh—but first and foremost he’s a perfectionist, and if Jaehyun never has to set foot in another jewelry shop again, he’ll die happy. (A lie, since the moment he and Taeyong have to go and pick out the _wedding rings_ , well.)

Johnny cackles, clearly aware of this. “Don’t be jealous, Taeil,” he says. “I’m sure someone will ask you to the ball soon.”

Taeil chucks a pen at him.

Jaehyun snorts and goes to log into his computer. On his finger—unassuming and not exactly traditional and _physical proof_ of the fact that he and Taeyong have decided they want to try their hand at _forever—_ his ring glints.

“But to return to my original point”—clearly Taeil and Johnny have continued teasing one another, but Jaehyun’s missed quite a lot—“Jeong or Lee?”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “As I said, no one is taking anyone’s—”

“—name, I know, you said.” Taeil dismisses Jaehyun’s sentence with a careless wave of his hand, reaching out to pick up his mug of coffee when he’s done. “But that’s just if you were marrying a normal person.”

Johnny opens his mouth to protest, but Jaehyun holds up a hand, honestly wanting to hear the end of this.

“You’re marrying _a prince_ ,” Taeil says, dumping a sip of coffee into the plant on his desk. Jaehyun swears it’s not the same one he had back in 2022, but maybe… He gives himself a shake, aware he’s gotten distracted.

“So?” he says.

“So, does that mean _you’ll_ be a prince?” says Taeil.

There’s a beat. Jaehyun rather seriously considers this. “Well—”

Johnny reaches out a hand to steal Taeil’s mug back, almost like a parent taking away a toy from a naughty child. “Haven’t we been over this ad nauseam?” he says after he’s done so. “With _my_ royal Lee?”

Taeil rolls his eyes. “You and Mark were even more a nightmare—you’re not even really Korean.”

“Excuse you.” Johnny raises an eyebrow, and Taeil grins back at him, unrepentant.

“What?” he says. “It was only _in all the news_.”

That was all the internet was talking about once Mark and Johnny got engaged—what it meant for Mark’s claim to the throne, his status as twenty-fifth in line, etc. From the gist of things, Mark was very lucky he had an older brother. Taeyong’s only got an older sister, but Jaehyun’s Korean—more than Johnny, anyway, given he was born here.

“Stop changing the subject,” Taeil says, taking his mug back from Johnny and pouring a liberal amount into the pot on his desk. “ _Prince Jaehyun_ ,” he continues. “You’ve got to admit—it’s got a nice ring to it.”

It’s not the only thing that’s got a nice ring, and Jaehyun can’t hide his smile now. “Both of you shut up,” he says anyway, and reaches down to give his unruly desk chair a crank. He still hasn’t gone and replaced it, mostly because he keeps forgetting, and complaining about it is equally part of his routine.

“But Jaehyun.” Taeil is staring at Jaehyun with a huge grin. “Once you’re married, I won’t be able to make fun of you for fear of getting thrown in royal prison—”

“There’s no such thing as royal prison. You can’t listen to a thing that Mark tells you,” says Taeyong, appearing in the middle of the office like he owns the place and making something swoop in Jaehyun’s chest like a bird. He crosses the room until he reaches the row of their desks, coming to a stop directly in front of Jaehyun’s and crossing his arms and raising both eyebrows. Without looking away from Jaehyun, he continues, “Or was it Donghyuck…”

Taeil sputters, but Jaehyun only has eyes for his boyfriend. His fiancé. Prince Lee Taeyong.

“Hey,” Jaehyun says. He should stand. He doesn’t stand. He gazes up at Taeyong and doesn’t even breathe. It’s only been hours since Jaehyun dragged himself out of the shower and away from the man, threw on clothes, didn’t bother to eat breakfast, and had to take the train downtown. It’s only been hours since Jaehyun kissed Taeyong, ran his hand through his unfairly soft hair and wished he was allowed to take leave for a family emergency—having recently become engaged to the love of his life certainly should warrant PTO. “Did I forget my lunch again?”

It’s kind of a rhetorical, pointless question, since everyone in the office and also the country knows that Jaehyun doesn’t bring lunch; instead he goes out to eat with the prince he’s been seeing, and they usually make several gossip rags—the really devoted, bottom-feeder ones, since everyone else has gotten tired of spinning their romance for the web. Jaehyun doesn’t blame them. There’s only so many times you can rewrite the headline `Prince Lee Taeyong Goes Out to Lunch With Longterm Boyfriend, Detective Jeong Jaehyun`, before it starts being boring.

“No,” says Taeyong, answering him anyway, and smiles in a way that makes Jaehyun’s heart race.

Taeil groans. “Please don’t say anything disgusting—I haven’t had my breakfast—”

“But you did walk out the door with my heart, and I feel like I might have use for it,” finishes Taeyong.

“Why?” asks Taeil, dropping his head onto his desk. “Youngho. Why.”

Johnny just keeps typing away at his computer. “Don’t look at me,” he says.

“Wise choice,” Jaehyun tells Johnny, pulling his eyes away from Taeyong before he does something indecent—and illegal—in the middle of the police station he works at. “Don’t think I didn’t see what you have Mark as in your phone.”

Taeil lifts his head off of his arms. “I haven’t,” he says. “What is it? No wait—don’t tell me—breakfast—”

Jaehyun takes pity on him and gets to his feet. “I do actually have to go to work, you know,” he says, taking hold of Taeyong’s hand and going to pull him away from the main floor and towards the hall and doors—

“Do you really?” someone who sounds remarkably like one of the new kids doing their graduation rotation shouts after them, and Jaehyun fights the urge to laugh as he hears another one of them frantically call for them to _hush_.

Taeyong slides his hand down to link their fingers, and Jaehyun has to take a shuddery, wonderful moment when their rings clink together. Taeyong has a ring because he and Taeyong had been talking about marriage for some time now, even though Jaehyun hadn’t been expecting a proposal on the anniversary of the time they got back together. He’d sort of thought it might have been their March meeting date, but Taeyong insisted that July was the real one, since it was like the universe was conspiring to reunite them, stop laughing, Jaehyun-ah, I’m serious, yes, I know it’s also the anniversary of a bunch of my family’s murders, you are ruining the moment.

“Sorry,” Taeyong says, after only a few more moments of just standing together holding hands. “I know you’re busy.”

He doesn’t say _I missed you_ but Jaehyun got engaged to him last night, so he says it for the both of them. “I missed you too.”

“God.” Taeyong laughs, a beautiful, wonderful thing. “Listen to us. We’re the worst.”

Jaehyun lifts their hands so that he can kiss the back of Taeyong’s, utterly unrepentant. “No, hey, speak for yourself,” he says, right up against Taeyong’s skin. “I’m a treasure—a National one, at that—”

“I’m a hundred percent sure that was used to describe me,” Taeyong says, but he’s grinning back at Jaehyun and looks so fucking pretty.

“No, you’re our ‘nation’s finest,’” says Jaehyun. He’s still got his mouth pressed to the back of Taeyong’s hand, and it would be oh so easy to end up with his lips against the metal around his finger. God. Jaehyun gets to marry him.

“Uh huh.” Taeyong’s breathing stutters a little, but other than that he seems composed.

“So.” Jaehyun pulls away from Taeyong’s hand very reluctantly just so that he can better look at him, but their rings click again as he does so, and his heart skips a beat. “Did you come for any particular reason, or did you just miss me—and how’d you even get in the building? I know it’s basically your country, but I feel like this is a major security issue—”

“I love you,” Taeyong says, interrupting Jaehyun’s tirade with only that one sentence. “And no. I just missed you.”

Jaehyun’s ears feel like they’re on fire. “Oh—well—that’s—”

“It’s a crime, Jaehyunnie-yah,” Taeyong continues, somehow managing to take a step closer so that they’re chest to chest in the small hall. “I’m here to report a crime.”

“Me leaving you?” Jaehyun says, with only the tiniest stutter. One year out and he still feels a little bit raw over it—like he’ll be apologizing forever, honestly, despite the fact that Taeyong maintains full forgiveness on both of their parts.

Taeyong’s expression is very kind. “Yes,” he says. “For thirty whole minutes—”

“Taeyong,” Jaehyun says, giddy as he always is when addressing the man only by name. “I hate to break it to you, but I cannot be with you twenty-four seven—we’d drive each other mad—”

“Oh, that’s a crime as well,” interrupts Taeyong, mouth quirking and eyes positively dancing. “I’d like to report that one too.”

Jaehyun blinks back at him, heart thudding in his chest. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“No.” Taeyong sways forward, and if Jaehyun had any doubts of his intentions before, he doesn’t anymore. “As a detective, it’s your job to deal with crimes. Criminals.”

Jaehyun can’t help the lowness of his voice when he speaks next. “True.”

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

Jaehyun blinks.

“About the crime?” Taeyong somehow manages to shift even closer. “That has been committed.” Even closer. “And reported. By me.”

Jaehyun blinks some more, aware that they’re about to be kissing in his place of work, but still feeling the need just to make sure. “To be clear, the crime in question is leaving you alone to go to work and refusing to spend every waking minute with you?” he says, which gets him something of a whine in return. “Because—and I just want to be clear; protocol—I believe in both cases I am in fact _the criminal_ , so maybe you shouldn’t be coming to me to help catch them… me.”

“Jaehyunnie.” Taeyong’s eyelashes are very, very long and his mouth is very, very close. “Don’t make me arrest you.”

“Now see, I don’t think that you can, jokes aside, given I am—as stated—the detective—”

“By royal decree.” Taeyong lifts a hand—the right one, wearing Jaehyun’s ring—waves it in the air and then puts it directly on Jaehyun’s chest. “By… the powers vested in me by virtue of being born the son of the king.”

Jaehyun blinks. “Great-great-grandson—”

“Jaehyun-ah.” Taeyong’s hand presses harder against Jaehyun, forcing him to take a step back.

“Taeyong-ah.” Jaehyun licks his lips, waiting.

No one moves.

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind—”

Jaehyun grabs him before he can go, dragging him closer and nearly overbalancing the both of them. “Ah ah, no take backs—you put a ring on it—”

“Yes, and every second I regret that decision—”

“Was that before or after I refused to let you give me any hints in the scavenger hunt—”

“For the last time, don’t call it a scavenger hunt—that’s so unromantic—”

“Sorry, the search for the keys to your heart, which were hidden in your copy of _Ancient Korean Agriculture_ —”

“Ahem,” says a voice, filled with great disdain. When Jaehyun turns, he finds Byoungjun-hyung, standing in the doorway holding a mug of coffee, and looking… bemused. Jaehyun thinks there’s amusement underneath all the disapproval, honestly.

“Hyung,” Jaehyun says. “Team-jangnim.”

Taeyong points. “Kang-hyungsanim. Arrest this man,” he says.

Byoungjun-hyung follows the line of Taeyong’s finger to Jaehyun, blinks, and then very slowly turns on his heel. “I’m out,” he says, as he goes. “If you’re not back at your desk in five minutes you are _fired_ —”

“Pretty sure you can’t fire him—he’s a prince now, haven’t you heard?”

“See if I promote you, Moon Taeil!”

Jaehyun’s friends _laugh_ , but Jaehyun is too busy giving in and kissing Taeyong, deep and not nearly enough. “God,” he says, right in the middle of it, because even moving apart for that tiny second feels like too much. “I _love_ you—”

“I should hope so,” Taeyong says back—gasps back. “Seeing as you agreed to marry me.”

“Mm,” Jaehyun agrees. “Of course.”

He makes it back to his desk in five minutes. Taeyong should vanish to do other things, but instead he follows Jaehyun back to his desk, stretching the limits of Byoungjun-hyung’s orders with every moment spent still in the precinct. He rolls a chair over next to Jaehyun’s and takes a seat at Jaehyun’s desk. Jaehyun holds his hand.

“Wow,” says Taeil finally. “Are you going to be like this for the rest of the day?”

“No,” says Jaehyun.

“Oh, good—”

“For the rest of my life,” finishes Jaehyun, and as Taeyong squeezes his hand, he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!!!! The plan was always for this to drop on Jaehyun day, lol. Thank you all for reading once again!
> 
> Share this fic: [Twitter](https://twitter.com/zimriya/status/1347932406259576835)  
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